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BRAZENHEAD  THE  GREAT 


BRAZENHEAD 
THE  GREAT 


BY 

MAURICE  HEWLETT 


CHARLES     SCRIBNER»S     SONS 
NEW    YORK       :       :       :       :       1911 


COPYKIGBT.  191 1,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
Published  April,  1911 


CoUeg? 
Ubraiy 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  MUSE,  AND 
EXORDIAL  MATTER 

Sing,  Lady,  that  sangest  erst  of  Tyrant  and  Par- 
thenopex,  of  Blanchardyn  and  Aymon's  mighty  four, 
sing,  I  say,  the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son,  bom 
by  wonder  in  the  seventh  month;  for  in  the  deeds 
of  such  men,  Lady,  thou  takest  thy  delight.  Sing 
greatly  upon  thine  epic  lyre  how  he  hammered 
sconces,  hacked  and  slew;  how  he  bathed  in  blood 
like  ducks  in  a  puddle;  how  he  drank  and  swore  in 
many  tongues;  how  Popes  and  Prelates,  Counts  and 
Cardinals,  Dukes  and  dicers  tumbled  at  the  wag  of 
his  finger.  Then  in  milder  measure.  Love's  roseate 
thumb  being  thy  muting-piece,  sing  of  Love  himself; 
for  love,  Lady,  as  thou  knowest,  is,  as  it  were,  the 
bath  of  heroes,  sweet  solace  after  toil.  In  the  begin- 
ning— but  the  Lady  is  weary  of  this,  and  so  am  I. 

Some  are  bom  great,  some  achieve  greatness,  and 
some  have  greatness  thmst  upon  them,  we  know. 
To  which  I  may  add  upon  the  account  of  the  pro- 
digious man  whom  it  is  my  task  to  present  to  the 
gallantly  inclined,  that  some  thmst  greatness  upon 
themselves.  The  propositions  are  not  mutually  ex- 
clusive, and  there  are  those  who  hold  that  the  last 


vi  INVOCATION 

is  the  most  fruitful  category  of  all.  'Tis  there,  say 
they,  that  you  had  best  look  for  the  hero  of  our  day. 
All's  one,  I  believe,  to  the  three  Sisters  who  sand- 
blindly  spin  our  destinies  in  some  remote  fastness 
of  the  Caucasus. 

Bom  (however  unduly)  in  a  great  Age,  living,  so 
far  as  I  can  learn,  to  an  age  of  his  own  of  almost 
patriarchal  limits,  living  every  hour  of  that  terrific 
span,  and  dying  at  last  in  a  manner,  at  a  hand,  upon 
a  sword-point,  which  I  venture  to  say  have  never 
been  matched  by  any  champion  of  sacred  or  profane 
writ,  Salomon  Brazenhead  has  thrice-earned  his 
sobriquet  of  The  Great.  No  doubt  he  gave  it  to 
himself,  the  world  being  as  much  his  oyster  as  the 
oyster  of  anybody  else  upon  it.  And  no  doubt  he 
had  the  warrant  of  reason.  I  have  adopted  the  style, 
and  am  confident  of  the  approval  of  my  reader, 
candid  or  otherwise.  Captain  Brazenhead — to  give 
him  that  one  of  his  many  titles  of  honour  by  which 
he  is  best  known — was  bom  greatly,  lived  greatly, 
loved  greatly,  and  died  greatly.  He  was  great  in 
height,  great  in  girth,  great  in  hair,  great  in  nose, 
great  in  thirst,  great  in  heart:  here  are  enough 
greats  to  fill  the  University  of  Oxford.  Let  them 
suffice  to  excuse  my  title-page. 

The  reader  has  here,  I  must  allow,  but  certain 
detached  Cantos  of  an  Epic  which,  in  full  and  at 
length  (so  far  as  I  know),  might  stretch  from  this 
hour  to  the  crack  of  Doom.    What  is  thus  presented 


INVOCATION  vii 

falls  short,  again,  of  the  requirements  of  Aristotle, 
having  no  beginning  and  no  middle;  but  it  has  an 
end,  and  a  surprising  end,  and  Aristotelians  must  be 
content  with  that.  I  have  been  diligent  in  research; 
there  are  few  of  the  Archives  of  Europe  into  which  I 
have  not  peered.  My  reward  has  been  four  consider- 
able fragments  of  a  huge  original — and  one  of  those, 
here  presented  under  the  title  of  The  Captain  of 
Kent,  has  been  printed  already.  But  I  have  not 
scrupled  to  reproduce  it  for  the  sake  of  coherence — 
such  coherence,  that  is,  as  may  be  attained  unto  by  a 
rhapsodist  who  has  to  begin  in  the  so-called  middle 
of  his  theme.  Assistance,  however,  has  come  to 
me  from  an  unexpected  source — too  late  in  time 
and  too  scanty  in  substance  for  its  incorporation  into 
the  body  of  my  work.  The  profound  Pilsenbierius, 
in  his  thesis  for  the  doctor's  degree  of  his  Univer- 
sity, states  in  these  words  the  result  of  his  enquiry 
into  the  early  history  of  my  hero.  He  says,  "After 
a  prolonged  study  of  the  sources,  preserved  at  the 
Public  Record  Office  and  Guildhall  Library  in 
London,  I  am  clearly  of  opinion  that  the  mythus  of 
the  Seventh-Bom  is  not  to  be  supported,  but  is,  in 
fact,  an  accretion  of  later  and  less  vigorous,  more 
literary  ages.  Probably  solar  in  its  origin — for  the 
name  of  Brazenhead  not  inaptly  describes  the  Sun, 
burning  centre  of  our  system,  and  the  seventh-bom 
must  almost  certainly  indicate  the  Sun  of  the  Seventh 
Day,  or  Saturday,  the  Sabbath  of  the  Jews  {cf.  the 


viii  INVOCATION 

praenomen  Salomon,  invariably  used  by  the  hero, 
who  is  thus  connected  with  Judas  Maccabaeus  and 
other  Hebrew  Captains  of  antiquity,  and  therefore 
with  Joshua  who  made  the  Sun  to  stand  still) — it  can 
nevertheless  be  to  an  historic  fact  and  passage  quite 
fearlessly  ascribed.  For  it  is  my  duty  to  assert  in 
this  place  and  thesis  that  the  unusual  birth  of  Salomon 
Brazenhead  (still  to  call  him  so)  can  be  accounted 
for  by  another  hypothesis,  which  documents  support. 
In  the  records  of  the  Halimote  Court  of  the  City  of 
London,  obligingly  put  at  my  disposal  by  the  ever 
courteous  and  no  less  learned  Librarian,  there  is 
preserved  an  entry,  under  date  the  7th  July,  1377, 
to  the  ejffect  that  Maid  (or  Maud)  Brassinhand  was 
convicted  before  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  as  a 
common  scold,  and  pleaded  her  condition.  She  was 
nevertheless  adjudged  to  be  ducked  in  the  pond  on 
Moorfields  incontinently.  Quod  erat  factum.  Here 
then  is  very  suggestive  evidence,  which  does  not  need 
the  invocation  of  supernal  powers  to  make  all  plain. 
All  that  is  wanting  to  it  indeed  is  evidence  that 
Maid  Brassinhand  was  the  mother  of  six  children, 
and  that  Salomon  Brazenhead  was  her  seventh:  but 
these  are  small  matters  in  comparison  with  miracles." 
The  evidence  is  curious,  but  not,  so  far,  of  poetical 
quality,  and  accordingly  I  have  not  composed  it  into 
a  book  of  my  Epic.  I  love  facts  as  much  as  any  man 
bom,  but  as  a  poet  I  know  when  to  use  them  and 
when  to  leave  them  out.    Herr  Doctor  Pilsenbierius 


INVOCATION  ix 

evidently  does  not.  But  I  shall  hope  to  publish  be- 
fore I  die  a  translation  of  his  thesis,  of  which  the 
above-cited  passage  may  be  taken  as  a  fair  sample. 

I  am  not  without  hopes  that  even  at  this  late  day 
I  shall  recover  further  staves  of  this  remarkable  and 
hitherto  unknown  Epos  by  diligent  and  continued 
,  enquiry.  In  the  Free  Library  of  Aleppo,  whither  I 
hope  soon  to  travel,  I  have  heard  of  a  manuscript 
which  must  contain  a  portion  of  at  least  one:  to  wit 
the  "Narrative  of  Bekr'  ibn  Salas  concerning  a  re- 
cent voyage  with  the  Brazen  Soldier  of  Ancona  in 
the  year  of  the  Hegira  826."  I  connect  this,  by  in- 
tuition, with  Captain  Brazenhead's  journey  to  the 
East,  following  upon  an  alleged  interview  with  the 
Pope  which  took  place,  I  understand,  at  Ancona. 
He  had  another,  we  know,  at  Avignon;  but  that 
must  have  been  earlier. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I.— THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  PROVED  HIMSELF  TO 

BE  TWICE  AS  OLD  AS  HE  LOOKED  .  .  3 

n.      HOW  CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD    USED    THE    KING's 

WRIT 8 


m.      HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  HAILED  THE  DUKE 
OF  MILAN 


/s 


IV.      HOW    CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD    EXEMPLIFIED    HIS 

MAXIMS 18 

V.      HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  DEALT  WITH  A  BUR- 

GUNDIAN  IN  A  TUNNEL       ....  24 

VI.      DESPERATE  DOINGS  WITH  A  BISCAYAN         .  .  32 

VII.      DOUBLE  BATTLE 40 

Vm.      HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD,  AGAINST  HIS  BETTER 

JUDGMENT,  SPARED  THE  EGYPTIAN      .  .  45 

IX.      HOW  AND  WHERE  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD,  FALLING 

INTO  DISGRACE,   READ   HIS   "DE  REMEDIO"  52 

X.  HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  SLEW  THREE  HUN- 
DRED ANABAPTISTS  WITH  THE  THIGH-BONE 
OF  A  PHILOSOPHER  .  .  .  .  60 

xi 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XI.  HOW,  AND  FOR  WHAT  EXQUISITE  REASONS,  CAP- 
TAIN BRAZENHEAD  ABDICATED  THE  THRONE 
OF  MILAN 72 


BOOK  II.— THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

I.     THE  STAG  AT  BORDEAUX  .  .  .  .  8 1 

n.      VI  ET  ARMIS 92 

m.      HUE  AND  CRY  AFTER  SIMON      •  .  .  .  I03 

IV.      CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  REVEALS  HIMSELF  .  .  Ill 

V.      THE  CITY  ACCURSED 1 26 

VI.      THE  GREAT  LEVY    ......  I39 

Vn.      THE  YOUTSTG  MAN  BAREFOOT       .  .  .  .  150 

Vni.      BRAZENHEAD  LOQ 162 

IX.     THE  GREAT  RECOVERY 167 

BOOK  III.— THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

I.      HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  WON  A  RECRUIT       .  177 

n.      WILES  OF  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD         .  .  .  191 

in.      HOW   CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD    WAS    HIMSELF   RE- 
CRUITED    195 

IV.      HOW    PERCIVAL   PROSPERED    AND    THE    CAPTAIN 

FELT  JUSTIFIED 2IO 

V.      HOW  PERCIVAL  WAS  BOLD  AND  THE  CAPTAIN  BOLD  2 1 9 


CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAFTEK  PAGE 

VI.      HOW  PERCIVAL  ROSE   WHERE   CAPTAIN   BRAZEN- 
HEAD  FELL 227 

Vn.      INCIDIT  IN  SCYLLAM,  CCPIENS  VITARE  CHARYBDIM  243 

Vni.  HOW  PERCIVAL  GOT  MORE  THAN  HE  DESERVED, 
THE  SHEPMAN  LESS,  AND  CAPTAIN  BRAZEN- 
HEAD  HELD  OCCASION  BY  THE  TAIL      .            .  253 

BOOK  IV.— THE  LAST  ADVENTURE      .  269 


BOOK  I 
THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 


BRAZENHEAD  THE  GREAT 

BOOK  I 
THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

CHAPTER  I 

HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  PROVED  HIMSELF  TO  BE 
TWICE  AS  OLD  AS  HE  LOOKED 

That  many  times  repeated  asseveration  of  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead's,  that  he  had  formed  one  of  the 
suite  of  Duke  Lionel  when  that  prince  went  out  to 
Lombardy  to  marry  Visconti's  daughter,  and  that,  in 
consequence,  the  poet  Chaucer — "Httle  Smugface," 
as  he  was  pleased  to  call  him — ^was  his  fellow-traveller 
and  bosom  friend,  bore  at  the  first  blush  the  stamp 
of  truth.  It  was  always  supported  by  vigorous  rem- 
iniscence; the  older  he  grew,  the  more  positive  he 
was  of  it.  Like  the  Apostle,  confronted  by  tales  of 
the  sort,  we  might  partly  believe  it.  It  would  make 
him  out  to  have  been  one  hundred  and  five  years 
old  at  the  time  of  his  death,  or  necessitate  his  hav- 
ing been  bom  into  this  world  with  thirty-seven  years 

3 


4  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

already  to  his  score.  Here  is  a  problem  for  the  his- 
torian which  we  may  prudently  leave  him. 

I  think  it  was  his  manner  of  telling  the  tale  which 
gave  confidence  to  those  who  had  watched  his  rapt 
gaze  into  the  embers  of  the  hearth,  who  had  observed 
his  easy  length  of  leg,  and  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head,  and  the  pleasant  gloss  which  recollection  might 
well  have  laid  upon  his  sombre  and  seldom-smiling 
lips.  "It  all  comes  back  to  me,"  he  would  say,  "by 
my  head,  and  so  it  does!  Little  Smugface!  Little 
scrivening  Geoffrey,  and  his  age-long  tales  of  Troy 
town!  Blithely  he  strung  stave  to  stave — and  we, 
a  gay  company  of  drones,  clustered  about  the  honey 
of  his  tongue;  and  my  lord's  grace  pounding  before 
us  on  his  black  courser !  He  would  rehearse  of  Dido, 
the  lily  queen,  of  the  piled  faggots,  of  the  flame.  Ha ! 
and  she  in  the  midst,  as  white  as  an  egg!  It  welled 
out  of  him  like  treacle  from  a  broken  crock;  and 
my  lord's  grace,  with  ears  set  back,  lost  not  a  sylla- 
bub of  it.  Long  days,  brave  days — ah,  how  they 
rise  and  beckon  me!"  It  really  sounds  very  plausi- 
ble. 

All  this  as  it  may  be,  what  is  beyond  cavil  is  that 
I  find  him  at  Pa  via  in  the  year  1402,  a  fine  figure 
of  a  man,  scarred,  crimson,  shining  in  the  face,  his 
hair  cropped  in  the  Burgundian  mode,  moustachios 
to  the  ears,  holding  this  kind  of  discourse  to  a  lank 
and  cavernous  warrior,  three  times  his  own  apparent 
age,  who  had  proposed,  I  gather,  before  a  tavern  full 
of  drinkers,  to  eat  him  raw.  He  stood  astraddle, 
one  arm  crooked,  his  hand  on  his  hip.    He  looked 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  5 

at  his  rival's  boots;  but  his  words  must  have  winged 
directly  to  his  heart.  "Who  eat  me  chokes,  for  I 
am  like  that  succulent  that  conceals,  d'ye  see,  his 
spines  in  youthful  bloom.  You  think  you  have  to 
do  with  a  stripling:  not  you,  pranking  boy,  not  you. 
I  am  a  seamed  and  notch-fingered  soldier,  who 
belched  Greek  fire  while  you  were  in  your  swaddling- 
clout.  I  was  old  in  iniquity  ere  they  weaned  you. 
Or  do  you  vie  with  me  in  perils,  by  cock,  do  you  so  ? 
Five  times  left  for  dead;  trampled  six  times  out  by 
the  rear-guard  of  the  host  I  had  led  to  victory;  cru- 
cified, stoned,  extenuated,  cut  into  strips;  in  prisons 
frequent,  in  deaths  not  divided — what  make  you  of 
it?  And  you  to  tell  me  that  your  green  guts  can 
pouch  old  Leather-tripes,  for  so  they  dub  me  who 
dare  ?     Foh,  you  are  a  bladder,  I  see ! " 

He  bit  his  thumb,  and  did  that  with  his  fingers  to 
his  nose  whose  import  is  sinister.  I  believe  no  man 
can  bear  it  and  live  on.  The  irons  came  swingeing 
out,  the  room  cleared ;  all  the  frequenters  of  the  tav- 
ern sat  on  the  tables,  while  the  tapsters  strewed  saw- 
dust on  the  floor.  They  had  need.  There  was  a 
ding-dong  passage  of  arms  of  one  hundred  and  thirty 
seconds,  which  was  ample  time  for  Captain  Brazen- 
head  to  run  his  foe  through  the  weazand,  wipe  his 
blade  in  his  armpit,  finish  his  drink,  and  say:  "There 
lies  long  Italy."  All  this  in  one  hundred  and  thirty 
seconds.  Five  minutes  more  remained  to  the  fallen 
brave,  and  were  not  too  much  for  what  he  had  to 
do — namely,  cough  blood,  say  the  Ave  Maria,  and 
bequeath  a  pair  of  horns  to  the  tapster,  Gregory. 


6  THE  DUKE   OF  MILAN 

Captain  Brazenhead's  reputation  was  established 
in  Pavia,  his  age  what  he  pleased.  Admirers  crowded 
about  him,  to  pledge  and  be  pledged  in  cups.  He 
was  asked  his  name,  and  said  that  it  was  Testadirame 
— very  neat,  for  the  spur  of  the  moment:  his  trade, 
and  pointed  to  his  extended  foe.  It  was  replied  to 
him  by  a  brother  of  St.  Francis,  who  squinted,  that 
then  Greek  and  Greek  had  met  and  engaged,  seeing 
that  the  dead  man  in  life  had  been  Lisciassangue — 
Lisciassangue  the  exorbitant,  assassin  to  the  Duke 
of  Milan,  and  one  of  a  Mystery  of  Three. 

At  this  critical  moment  in  his  career  Captain 
Brazenhead  paused  in  the  act  to  drink,  and  look- 
ing down  over  the  edge  of  his  flagon,  thoughtfully 
stirred  the  dead  with  his  toe. 

"His  sword  is  a  good  one,"  said  he,  "and  I  take 
it,  as  right  is.  What  he  may  have  in  poke  I  bestow 
in  alms  upon  the  poor  drinkers  of  Pavia.  But  as  to 
his  trade,  or  mystery,  I  must  hear  more  of  that." 
One  glance  at  the  religious  commentator  shrivelled 
him.  "  Speak ! "  he  commanded  him.  "  Speak,  thou 
flea-pasture,  or  I  split  thee!" 

Ah,  but  they  spoke.  They  all  spoke  at  once.  They 
all  clambered  the  tables  again  and  leaned  over  each 
other  to  speak.  Straining  out  their  arms,  see-sawing 
in  air,  they  spoke  with  hands  and  eyes  and  voices. 
Captain  Brazenhead,  a  sword  to  the  good,  listened 
and  learned.  To  the  ready  reckoner  he  was,  the 
accounts  were  soon  cast  up.  If  there  were  in  Milan 
twenty-nine  churches,  thirty  convents  of  religion,  and 
seven-and-thirty  jails  all  full;  if  there  were  no  penalty 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  7 

in  the  code  but  that  of  death ;  and  if  it  were  true  that 
the  Duke,  feeling  the  cares  of  his  lands,  the  needs 
of  his  subjects,  and  his  own  advancing  years,  had 
relaxed  his  personal  activities,  and  now  did  his  jus- 
tice by  deputy — then  it  was  most  certain  that  the 
Mystery  of  Three  could  not  afford  to  lose  the  services 
of  Lisciassangue :  no,  nor  Duke  Galeazzo  neither. 
His  Grace's  condition  was  indeed  deplorable,  robbed 
of  one-third  of  his  assassins.  "I  see  the  aged  mon- 
arch," mused  Captain  Brazenhead,  overheard  by  a 
sympathetic  throng,  "maimed,  as  you  might  say, 
of  his  right  hand.  I  see  his  prisons  full  to  brim- 
point,  his  lieutenants  at  work  night  and  day  to  keep 
abreast  of  the  flood.  But  alas  for  the  Duke  of 
Milan!  they  have  lost  a  friend,  maybe;  he  has  lost  a 
member.  Gentlemen!"  he  cried  this  aloud  with  a 
surprising  gallantry.  "Gentlemen,  you  must  pity 
him,  since  you  have  hearts;  but  I  must  help  him  or 
be  untrue  to  this  good  arm.  Now,  then,  the  next 
man  that  offers  to  drink  with  me  shall  not  have  nay." 
Reasoning  of  this  sort  enkindled  his  wits.  He 
could  not  restore  to  the  Duke  his  Lisciassangue ;  the 
dead  was  most  dead ;  but  so  far  as  might  be  he  would 
repair  his  fault.  If,  in  so  doing,  he  opened  a  ca- 
reer for  himself,  shall  he  be  blamed  for  the  added 
glow  which  the  thought  lent  to  his  blood  ?  Not  by 
any  generous  man.  "There  lies  long  Italy,"  he  had 
said,  and  the  words  flashed  up  again,  and  revealed 
him  a  nation  at  his  feet.  To  Milan,  to  Milan — 
and  "there  lies  long  Italy  in  the  cup  of  my  hand," 
says  he. 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  USED  THE  KING'S  WRIT 

Blithe  was  the  mom  and  blithe  the  adventurer 
when,  rising  in  his  stirrups,  Captain  Brazenhead,  like 
Chanticlere  the  valiant,  saluted  the  sun.  Red  in  the 
mist,  it  lit  the  road  to  Milan;  red  in  the  mist  that 
city  showed,  admirably  strong,  remarkable  to  any 
soldier's  eye.  He  saw  double  walls,  towers  innumer- 
able, many  gates  of  port  and  antiport,  the  bulk  of  a 
square  castle,  belfries  of  churches,  and  outside  the 
ditch,  in  a  broad  meadow,  a  tented  camp,  with  silk 
pavilions  for  the  captains,  and  men-at-arms  in  black 
and  white  liveries  executing  manoeuvres  at  the  double. 
"This  Milan,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "lacks  only 
water  to  flood  the  marshes  to  be  as  impregnable  as 
Jericho  of  old — more  so,  indeed,  since  Jericho,  I  do 
remember,  was  taken  by  a  man  of  God.  He,  it 
appears,  by  taking  a  walk  round  about  it  in  the  cool 
of  the  day,  could  level  those  proud  walls,  as  with 
a  breath  you  have  down  your  house  of  cards.  But 
those  are  tactics  of  despair.  I  would  only  use  them 
when  all  else  had  failed  me." 

A  young  woman  in  a  striped  petticoat  and  ker- 
chiefed head,  who  rode  sideways  upon  an  ass  and 
nursed  a  baby,  was  upon  the  road  before  him,  and 
gave  a  tender  note  to  the  warlike  scene.    The  avenue 

8 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  9 

of  budding  trees  framed  her  in  like  a  picture,  dappled 
her  with  light  and  shade.  "  Venus  rideth  to  assuage 
Mars  his  fury,"  said  he,  "and  a  pretty  turn  to  the 
head  she  hath."  He  quickened  his  pace,  overtook 
and  accosted  her. 

"Damsel,  by  your  leave,"  he  said,  "we  under- 
take this  adventure  in  company.  Why,  cheerly 
then,  and  cry 'Tickle  my  chin.'"  She  looked  at  him 
askance  out  of  her  dove's  eyes,  but  his  gaiety  was 
not  to  be  denied. 

But  "Sir,"  said  she,  "I  know  not  how  that  may  fall 
out."    He  stooped  toward  her. 

"I  know  a  couple  will  never  fall  out  while  the  sun 
shineth  on  Milan,"  he  admonished  her. 

"I,  too,  sir,"  she  replied,  "for  I  am  a  married 
woman." 

"It  is  very  evident,"  said  the  Captain,  with  genial 
warmth.     "In  that  fine  little  girl " 

She  bit  her  lip.  "  It  is  a  boy,  sir.  I  had  supposed 
you  better  instructed.  But  you  and  I  must  not  be 
seen  together  at  the  gate." 

Captain  Brazenhead  turned  his  gaze  most  earnestly 
upon  her.  "Listen  now,"  he  said.  "There's  Fate 
in  this  our  meeting.  One  star  leans  to  another  in 
conjunction.  We  do  what  we  do  under  the  swaying 
of  the  spheres.    So  sure  as  your  name  is " 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  all  in  a  flame,  "who  told  you 
that  my  name  was  Liperata?" 

The  soldier  smiled.  "Why,  you,  my  dear.  But 
I  am  in  Fortune's  way.  I  have  a  net,  and  have  en- 
meshed thee,  fair  partridge.    Contend  no  more,  fold 


lO  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

thy  beating  wings.  We  go  through  the  gate  together; 
afterward  we  must  see  our  way.  Thou  art  my  pass- 
port, Liperata,  and  I  defend  thy  reputation  with  my 
last  breath."  She  had  no  answer  ready,  so  they 
ambled  on  together.  Her  confusion  became  her.  It 
was  to  remain  with  him  a  balmy  memory — like  a  re- 
membered fragrance  in  sultry  weather. 

What  amiable  intentions  he  may  have  had  in  her 
regard,  however,  did  not  avail  him  to  pass  the  entry 
of  Milan.  The  posted  sentinels,  seeing  a  fine  man 
in  leather,  with  two  swords,  bestriding  a  horse  three 
of  whose  legs,  at  least,  were  ready  for  war,  ran  nimbly 
in  and  called  out  the  guard.  Monna  Liperata,  free 
of  the  gates,  dug  heels  into  her  donkey's  ribs  and 
jogged  into  the  city,  glancing  back  but  once  as  she 
turned  the  street  comer.  Captain  Brazenhead,  how- 
ever, confronted  a  double  row  of  halberdiers. 

He  was  vexed.  "How  now?"  he  cried.  "Am  I 
hosts  of  Midian?  Caesar  with  his  legions?  Am  I 
Tamerlane  at  the  door?  or  what  the  devil?" 

They  told  him  that  no  man  could  pass  the  gates 
of  the  city  without  lawful  warrant.  That  was  in- 
exorable. "What  is,  is,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead, 
"and  what  must  be,  shall  be.  Et  in  saectda  saecu- 
lorum,  Amen.  You  wish  for  my  warrant,  masters?" 
He  drew  from  his  breast  a  strip  of  parchment,  folded, 
scaled,  and  bound  with  a  green  cord.  "Take,"  he 
said,  "and  read  it  who  can." 

Now,  they  could  not;  but  they  examined  the  seal, 
which  was  a  broad  one,  with  the  arms  of  England 
and  France  upon  it. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  ii 

"Read  you,  rather,"  they  said;  so  Captain  Brazen- 
head  recited  the  exordium,  being  no  more  able  to  read 
Latin  (nor,  indeed,  any  written  tongue)  than  his  au- 
ditors. 

''Henricus  dei  gratia  Rex  Angliae  et  Franciae  et 
dominus  Hibernian  dilecto  etfideli  suo  T.  de  Compton 
Vicecomiti  Middlesexiae  salutem. '  *  He  read  no  more , 
because  he  knew  no  more,  but  crushing  up  the 
parchment  in  his  fist,  looked  sublimely  down  upon 
the  gaping  soldiery,  and  his  words  extended  to  the 
curious  merchants  who  stood  at  the  doors  of  their 
little  shops  watching  the  game. 

"You  see  very  well  how  it  is,  men  of  Lombardy," 
he  proclaimed.  "The  King  of  England  and  France 
and  Lord  of  Ireland  sends  this  affectionate  greeting 
to  his  cousin  Milan.  What,  ye  sour-chops,  ye  will 
not  understand  ?  Hearken ,  then ,  yet  again ! "  As  they 
wondered  amongst  themselves,  he  reopened  the  scroll 
and  smacked  it  with  his  fist.  "Henricus  dei  gratia^ 
hey?  How's  that  for  my  King  Harry?  And  Vice- 
comiiij  hey?  Is't  not  your  Visconti  written  fair? 
And  will  you,  hirelings,"  he  added,  with  a  searching 
change  of  tone,  "will  you  thrust  up  your  dirty  hands 
between  the  kissing  lips  of  kings?" 

They  said  that  they  would  not,  and  saw  in  the  smile 
that  stole  over  the  hero's  face  a  strong  resemblance 
to  the  gleaming  of  the  morning  sun  upon  the  scarred 
brow  of  an  Alp.  "Then  lead  on,  peeping  Tom," 
were  the  bold  words.  "  My  business  here  is  to  greet 
King  from  King." 

A  strong  escort  conducted  him  through  the  narrow 


12  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

ways  of  the  city  and  presented  him  to  the  Captain 
of  the  Castle.  His  writ  was  taken  over,  turned  about, 
and  (since  nothing  could  be  made  of  it)  carried  away 
to  yet  more  learned  officers.  Captain  Brazenhead, 
meanwhile,  sat  quite  at  his  ease,  in  the  gate-house 
quarters,  affably  conversing  with  all  and  sundry. 
His  cause  may  have  been  good ;  his  nerve  was  better. 

After  a  period  of  suspense,  which  may  have  lasted 
an  hour,  or  may  have  lasted  three,  two  clerics  entered 
the  gate-house  and  saluted  him  with  great  respect. 

Captain  Brazenhead  stood  up.  "How  now,  my 
reverends?" 

One  of  them  said:  "Your  Excellency's  credentials 
have  been  examined  by  our  master,  the  Great  Cham- 
berlain, to  whose  mind  certain  little  difficulties  have 
presented  themselves,  which  can  only  be  dispersed 
by  your  Excellency's  self." 

"Like  enough,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  and 
closed  one  of  his  eyes.  "But  I'll  warrant  you  that 
I  disperse  'em." 

But  the  spokesman,  an  elderly  brother  of  St. 
Dominic's  order  of  religion,  was  now  examining  the 
wTit.  "It  is  clear,"  said  he,  "that  the  King  your 
master  directs  this  letter  to  a  kinsman  of  our  Duke, 
though  in  what  degree  of  consanguinity  the  Lord  T. 
de  Compton  Visconti  may  be  to  his  Grace  we  are 
unable  to  determine." 

Captain  Brazenhead  ejaculated  "  Cousin,"  but  the 
Dominican  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"We  see  further,"  he  pursued,  poring  over  the 
parchment,  "that  this  Lord  Visconti  is  to  have  the 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  13 

body  of  one  Salomone,  to  answer  to  his  lord  the  king 
why  with  force  and  arms  he  brake  the  close  of  one 
Jak  a-Style,  and  took  therefrom  certain  of  the  goods 
of  the  said  Jak — to  wit,  five  hens  and  one  cock  of 
the  value  of  one  shilling.  So  far  we  agree,  my 
brother,  I  think?"  He  looked  at  his  colleague,  who 
nodded  gravely ;  and  then  both  of  them  looked  at  his 
Excellency. 

"By  my  faith,  gentleman,"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  after  a  pause  for  breath,  "you  know  more 
about  this  than  I  do.  But  I  will  tell  you  the  plain 
truth.  I  was  in  my  castle  of  Baynard's  in  Middlesex 
on  a  day,  my  hounds  at  my  feet,  arms  laid  aside; 
taking  my  ease,  picking  my  teeth  with  a  dagger 
— when  the  lieutenant  of  this  same  Visconti  came 
pressing  in.  He  must  by  all  means  see  me,  saith  he ; 
cannot  be  denied.  He  serves  me  with  this — what 
do  I  say?  he  tenders  me  this  script,  saying,  'Testa- 
dirame,  look  to  it.'  A  nod  or  a  wink!  What  care 
I  ?  Enough  for  you  that  I  understand  him.  I  take 
horse  and  arms  incontinent,  and  off — as  it  were 
from  Visconti  of  Middlesex  to  the  head  of  his  house 
here  in  Milan;  but  in  reality,  doubt  it  not,  from 
King  to  King.  Of  your  cocks  and  hens,  or  cocks 
and  bulls,  of  Jak  a-Style's  poultry-yard,  I  know  noth- 
ing. But  I  take  it  that  a  king  can  put  as  many 
things  into  his  letters  as  he  pleases.  Gossip  of  the 
day!  Or,  it  may  well  be,  sand  in  the  eyes  of  your 
Worships,  who  (let  me  tell  you)  are  not  to  know 
everything.  No,  no.  But  I  would  have  you  know 
this  much  at  least,  my  reverend  brothers,  that  I  have 


14  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

no  sort  of  business  with  your  Honors,  and  much 
with  him  you  sen^e.  My  business  with  him  is  both 
heavy  and  light;  it  is  bitter-sweet;  but  for  his  ear 
alone.  Yours  with  me  is  to  take  me  to  his  ear. 
Advise  among  yourselves  now  what  you  will  do  next. 
For  my  part,  I  sit  here  well  enough,  though  I  should 
have  said,  mind  you,  that  it  was  the  dinner  hour. 
In  my  own  country  it  is  long  past  it,  but  of  your 
customs  here  in  Milan,  in  this  great  house  of  a 
generous  prince,  I  cannot  speak — at  present." 

"All  this,"  said  the  Dominican,  "shall  be  faith- 
fully reported  to  the  Duke  our  master."  So  said, 
he  vanished  with  his  pied  brother. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW  CAPTAIN   BRAZENHEAD   HAILED   THE   DUKE   OF 

MILAN 

It  must  have  been  in  the  late  afternoon  when 
Captain  Brazenhead  (who,  in  the  meantime,  had 
dined)  received  the  desired  summons  from  the  mouth 
of  a  handsome  page.  Following  this  resplendent 
youth,  whose  scarlet  thighs,  whose  trim  green  jerkin 
and  cloud  of  yellow  hair  lost  nothing  by  earnest 
scrutiny,  he  had  to  admit  that  he  had  not  understood 
rulers  of  states  to  be  so  hard  to  come  by.  But  the 
Tyrant  of  Milan,  he  believed,  could  be  no  ordinary 
monarch.  He  counted  the  corridors  with  doors  at 
both  ends  of  each,  in  every  door  a  grille,  through 
which  he  was  very  conscious  of  inspection  before 
the  bolts  were  drawn.  He  commented  upon  this. 
''Your  Duke  Galeass  is  as  coy  as  a  winkle  in  his 
shell  he  suggested;"  to  which  the  iridescent  young 
man  had  no  more  reply  than  a  lively  look  at  the  walls 
about  him,  and  a  finger  to  his  lip.  Handed  on  then 
to  a  gentleman-at-arms,  he  was  admitted  to  an  ante- 
room, where  he  was  divested  of  his  two  swords,  the 
hanger  at  his  belt,  and  of  another  which  was  found  in 
his  trunks.  He  was  then  blindfolded  and  led  about 
and  about  until,  the  bandage  removed,  he  found  him- 

15 


l6  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

self  standing  before  the  narrow  door  of  a  vaulted  pas- 
sage, confronted  by  two  halberdiers  in  black  and  a 
priest  with  a  crucifix. 

Captain  Brazenhead  wished  these  gentlemen  a 
good-day,  and  made  a  fine  attempt  to  whistle  the  air 
of  "In  the  meadow  so  green;"  but  the  remark  was 
received  in  silence  and  the  gallantry  quenched  by 
the  priest,  who,  holding  up  his  crucifix,  administered 
an  oath  to  the  visitor  of  so  dreadful  a  character  that 
my  pen,  very  properly,  refuses  to  set  it  down.  In 
effect,  it  bound  him  down  in  fearful  penalties,  both 
temporal  and  eternal,  if  he  ventured  anything  against 
the  Duke's  person^-" As  if,"  he  said,  looking  blandly 
round,  "  as  if  I  should  hurt  the  little  man !  I,  Brazen- 
head,  to  whom  the  sparrows  in  the  com  are  play- 
mates!" Adding,  however,  that  hard  words  would 
never  break  his  bones,  he  cheerfully  took  oath,  and 
kissed  the  crucifix.  Then  the  priest  knocked  three 
times  at  the  door.  It  opened  just  wide  enough  to 
admit  a  man  edgewise;  Captain  Brazenhead  stood 
up  in  a  dark  and  long  apartment,  lit  at  the  further  end 
by  swinging  lamps.  There  in  that  wavering  light 
sat  the  Duke  of  Milan  in  his  elbow-chair  and  furred 
gown,  with  his  hands  stretched  out  over  a  charcoal 
fire,  and  showed  a  quick-eyed,  white,  and  beardless 
face,  lively  with  fear,  turned  back  to  watch  the  visi- 
tor. It  was  to  be  seen  that  he  was  a  hunchback,  to 
be  guessed  that  he  wore  chain-mail.  He  had  three 
guards  by  the  wall,  two  by  the  door.  With  one  hand 
he  now  grasped  his  chair;  with  the  other  plucking 
at  his  throat,  he  recoiled  and  waited.    It  was  very 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  17 

quiet  in  the  room — so  very  quiet  that  you  could  hear 
the  Duke's  breath,  fetched  short  and  quickly. 

Like  a  rush  of  south-west  wind  making  havoc  in 
a  cloister,  the  superb  figure  of  Captain  Brazenhead — 
with  his  six  feet  two  inches,  his  cloak  thrown  back, 
his  buoyant  moustachios  and  eagle  nose — seemed  to 
fill  the  presence-chamber.  Inspired  to  utterance, 
strung  taut  as  he  was  by  the  occasion,  he  broke 
upon  the  silence  of  that  church-yard  vault  with  the 
crash  and  shatter  of  a  trumpet 

"Hail,  Ironsides!"  he  proclaimed,  and  the  hal- 
berdiers backed  to  the  walls.  He  said  no  less  and 
added  no  more — nor  need  he. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOW   CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD    EXEMPLIFIED    HIS 
MAXIMS 

Now  it  was  plain  that  the  apostrophe  pleased. 
The  Duke  relaxed  his  hold  upon  the  chair,  left  his 
throat  alone,  and,  shivering,  returned  his  hands  to 
the  fire.    Looking  into  that,  he  asked  in  a  dry  voice — 

"Who  are  you  that  call  me  by  my  name?" 

"Testadirame,"  was  the  answer,  which  he  medi- 
tated, poring  into  the  fire. 

"Your  business,  Testadirame?" 

He  seemed  already  to  be  tired  of  all  this,  but  he 
had  an  answer  which  quickened  him. 

"Death,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "is  my  busi- 
ness." 

Many  and  many  a  maxim  of  rhetoric  as  this  hero 
exemplified  in  his  career  through  the  courts  and 
camps  of  Europe,  it  may  be  said  with  confidence  that 
he  never  brought  more  apposite  illustration  to  that 
one  which  teaches:  "If  you  would  be  listened  to 
at  length,  be  heard  first  in  brief.  Strike,"  says  this 
profound  guide  to  persuasion,  "strike  hard  and 
sharply."  So  struck  Brazenhead  here,  and  saw  the 
Tyrant  pale  and  flicker  like  a  blown  candle-flame  at 
the  dreadful  word.  His  contorted  face,  his  eyes  as 
he  turned  them  upon  the  speaker,  were  those  of  a 

i8 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  19 

trapped  hare.  He  mouthed  rather  than  voiced  his 
cry:  "Ha,  treason!"  and  his  guards  shot  forward 
between  his  person  and  the  other's.  But  Captain 
Brazenhead  folded  his  arms  and,  nodding  his  head 
with  certain  emphasis,  was  oracular  again.  One 
could  not  be  more  oracular. 

"  Who  touches  me  dies  the  death  I  profess.  Listen." 
And  Duke  Galeazzo  listened  and  his  guards  gaped. 
"I  ask  no  more  of  Providence  than  a  foot  inside  the 
door — "  another  favorite  saying  of  his.  Having  got 
that  beyond  question,  he  never  faltered  in  the  flood 
of  his  discourse,  which,  like  a  river  fed  by  a  thousand 
rills,  sucking  substance  as  it  runs  from  mountain 
and  morass,  rolled  free  and  irresistible  towards  its 
goal.  If  the  matter  of  his  allocution  was  extraordi- 
nary— as  it  was — its  manner  made  it  reasonable  and 
indeed  inevitable.  You  might  as  well  have  headed 
up  the  Danube  as  Captain  Brazenhead  when  once 
he  was  under  way.  The  tongues  of  men  and  of 
angels  seemed  in  pawn  to  him  who,  without  pause 
or  stay,  spoke  headlong,  with  a  fierce  and  white-hot 
fluidity  indescribable  by  me,  for  the  space  of  an  hour 
and  a  quarter.  His  subject  ranged  from  metaphys- 
ics to  manslaughter;  he  borrowed  freely  and  im- 
partially, now  from  the  Seraphic  Doctor,  now  from 
Hermes,  the  Thrice-Mage.  These,  the  sages  and 
captains  of  antiquity,  Plato  and  Holophemes,  Quin- 
tus  Fabius  and  Michael  Scot,  Roger  Bacon,  the 
Witch  of  Endor,  and  other  ladies  and  gentlemen,  as 
it  were,  dissolved  in  hot  oil,  came  swirling  down  the 
tide.   Not  the  sciences  only,  but  the  Virtues,  Justice, 


20  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

Fortitude,  and  Mercy,  with  exemplars  of  each,  en- 
gaged his  tongue.  He  did  not  forget  the  clemency 
of  Scipio,  the  Spartan  boy,  Mutius  Scaevola,  Susanna 
before  the  Elders.  He  became  particular,  dwelt  in- 
timately upon  the  infirmities  of  kings.  He  knew  how 
many  lovers  had  Semiramis,  what  ravages  the  fire 
made  in  the  breast  of  Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt, 
what  proved  a  stumbling-block  to  Caesar,  how  Charle- 
magne doted,  the  luxuries  of  most  of  the  Persian 
kings — he  rehearsed  them  all,  brought  them  all  to  a 
fermenting  head,  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  slicing  ofiF 
that  head,  laid  it  on  the  point  of  his  tongue  at  the 
feet  of  Milan.  His  whirling  oratory,  his  flights  of 
frenzied  search  into  the  history  of  men  and  move- 
ments of  which  he  knew  little  or  nothing,  his  elan^ 
his  endurance,  and  his  mendacity  were  but  one 
concentrated  tribute  to  the  little  changeling  by  the 
fire. 

To  say  that  this  monarch  was  dazed  is  to  state  a 
mere  fact,  to  infer  that  he  was  flattered  is  to  argue 
a  high  probability.  That  he  was  relieved  when 
Captain  Brazenhead  stopped  at  last  with  a  vigorous 
clearing  of  the  throat  and  a  "  That's  the  truth,  by 
Cock,  take  it  as  you  will!" — of  that  there  is  no 
shadow  of  doubt.  He  was  so  greatly  relieved  that 
he  had  at  first  no  word  to  say ;  and  when  he  did  speak, 
it  was  not  to  inquire  concerning  the  message  of 
Visconti  of  Middlesex  or  King  Henry's  greetings, 
but  to  ask  in  a  voice  which  was  the  pale  reflection 
of  his  mood:  "What  wouldst  thou  of  me,  soldier?'* 

Captain  Brazenhead,  who  had  thought  that  he 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  21 

had  made  himself  plain,  was  for  once  embarrassed. 
"Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "there  was  a  fellow  in  your 
service  called  Lisciassangue — and  a  paltry  rogue " 

The  T)n'ant  started,  echoed  him:  "There  was? 
Aye,"  he  said  grimly,  "and  there  is." 

"There  is  not,  my  lord  duke,"  said  the  Captain, 
"and  that's  a  fact;  for  he  is  done  and  done  with. 
He  lies  his  length,  so  much  dead  meat,  in  a  tavern  of 
Pavia.    Now  you  may  have  him  by  the  pound." 

The  Duke  started  and  turned .  *  *  You  have  him — ' ' 
he  began  to  say. 

"Aye,  my  lord,  aye!"  he  was  told,  "you  may  have 
him  avoirdupois.  I  saw  him  so  myself  no  later  than 
yesternight.  And  here  stand  I,  Testadirame,  friend 
of  Visconti  of  Middlesex,  late  of  Burgundy,  Scourge 
of  the  Alps,  offering  you  myself  in  his  room.  'Tis 
for  that  I  am  come,  from  Visconti  of  Middlesex 
to  him  of  Milan — I,  Testadirame,  bosom's  mate  of 
Death." 

Visconti  paused,  staring,  as  if  fascinated,  at  the 
bosom's  mate  of  Death. 

"Do  you  dare  to  pretend,"  he  said,  "that  you  can 
stand  where  Lisciassangue  stood  ?    Are  you  so  bold  ?" 

Captain  Brazenhead  replied:  "But  I  am." 

"But  he  slew  his  thousands,  man,"  said  Visconti. 

Captain  Brazenhead  replied:  "But  I  slew  him." 

Now,  the  fact  is  that  the  Duke  of  Milan,  caring 
nothing  for  Lisciassangue,  cared  greatly  for  death. 
His  own  was  of  painful  and  constant  interest,  but 
that  of  any  other  man  was  his  passion.    Therefore, 


22  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

when  Captain  Brazenhead,  by  that  dazzhng  ad- 
mission, spoke,  for  the  first  time  that  day,  the 
truth,  Visconti's  eyes  began  to  glitter,  and  there 
came  a  sound  of  *'Ah!"  from  him,  as  of  breath 
drawn  in  slowly.  He  was  watched  with  minute 
attention. 

And  there  was  to  be  discerned  in  his  voice  a  note 
of  decision.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  "how  you  killed 
that  man;  prove  to  me  that  you  did  it,  and  I  ap- 
point you  to  his  place." 

Captain  Brazenhead  smiled.  "These  things  are' 
easy  to  me,"  he  replied.  "The  proof  is  in  the  ante- 
chamber, where  I  have  left  his  sword  along  with 
mine  which  did  the  business.  As  for  the  manner 
of  his  death,  that  is  a  small  affair.  Had  he  been  a 
greater  man,  I  had  been  more  curious  in  dealing. 
I  am  a  carver  and  gilder  when  the  hire  is  good  or 
the  stuff  worthy.  But  this  knave!  He  angered  me, 
and  I  drew  upon  him;  he  blundered,  and  I  played. 
I  was  fanciful,  d'ye  see  ?  I  took  slices  off  him  here 
and  there  till  he  gleamed  before  me  in  stripes  of  red 
and  white.  He  was  like  a  dressed  radish  before  I 
had  done  with  him,  or  a  manikin  cut  out  of  a  car- 
rot, or  a  slipped  beet-root.  Aye,  aye,  and  there  he 
lies — at  your  money  by  the  pound." 

The  Duke,  gloating  over  the  fire,  felt  the  first 
warmth  of  that  day  in  his  fevered  bones.  "Bring 
me,"  he  desired  "the  man's  sword,  that  I  may  look 
on  it  and  believe."  They  fetched  it,  and  he  ran 
his  finger  up  the  furrowed  blade.  "I  gave  two  hun- 
dred sequins  for  it  in  Ferrara,"  he  said  musingly. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  23 

"We  call  it   Jezebel."    He  held  it  out.    "Take, 
wield,  Testadirame.     Jezebel  is  yours." 

This  is  the  manner  of  Captain  Brazenhead's 
appointment  to  be  Third  Murderer  to  the  Duke  of 
Milan. 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW    CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD    DEALT    WITH    A    BUR- 
GUNDIAN  IN  A  TUNNEL 

A  FOOT  inside  the  door,  indeed!  And  here  was 
Captain  Brazenhead  with  his  whole  fine  body  within 
akeady.  Comfortable  quarters  and  free  table,  a 
livery  all  of  red,  with  a  mask  for  business  purposes, 
flattering  attentions  from  laqueys  of  all  sorts,  part- 
nership with  two  such  ruffians,  Camus  and  Gelso- 
mino,  as  never,  even  in  his  experience,  had  tainted 
the  air  before — what  could  a  soldier  of  fortune  want 
with  more?  It  is  the  misfortune  of  such  gentlemen, 
when  their  imaginations  are  ardent  and  habit  san- 
guine, that  they  can  be  seduced  more  easily  by  a 
phrase  than  by  all  the  sensible  temptations  of  Saint 
Antony  the  Abbot.  If  the  kindling  of  noble  rage 
by  a  neat  allocution  can  ever  be  called  a  misfortune, 
so  it  was  with  Captain  Brazenhead — that  when  his 
prospects  seemed  most  fair  he  told  himself  that  all 
was  still  to  do.  "There  lies  long  Italy,"  that  too 
happy  phrase,  was  what  moved  his  discontent.  To 
be  Third  Murderer  to  the  Duke  of  Milan  was  to  be 
something;  but  long  Italy  did  not  lie  murdered,  as 
yet. 

His  colleagues — Camus,  who  beneath  a  beetling 
Roman  brow  had  the  thin  and  bitter  lips  and  hoarse 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  25 

voice  of  a  fed  Caesar,  and  Gelsomino,  easily  mistaken 
for  a  Tartar  with  the  toothache,  with  red  rims  to  his 
eyes  and  a  sour  mouth  shockingly  awry — made  plain 
to  him  his  duties  from  the  outset.  He  was  to  kill 
daintily,  and  report  every  night  to  the  Duke,  his 
master,  the  means  and  the  manner  of  his  killing. 
Imagination  was  to  go  to  it ;  it  was  not  enough  to  kill. 
He  must  be  an  artist,  he  must  compose  his  murders, 
give  them  a  lyrical  pitch.  The  Prince,  now  that  his 
fear  had  taken  hold  of  him,  was  no  longer  able  to 
witness  the  sport  he  loved;  but  his  enthusiasm  for 
it  burned  clear  and  bright,  and  the  fever  now  in  his 
blood  gave  a  zest  to  his  understanding  such  as  his 
eyes  had  never  lent  it.  He  was,  clearly,  a  virtuoso; 
he  collected  murders  as  other  men  bronzes.  Captain 
Brazenhead,  therefore,  was  to  excel;  it  was  little  use 
to  offer  such  a  master  anything  but  the  best  of  its 
kind.  "Kill,"  said  Camus,  "but  be  eloquent  above 
all.  Be  a  poet,  brother."  And  Gelsomino  added: 
"Aye!  Braid  your  periods  with  blood;  let  your 
stresses  be  gashes,  your  ccesuras  rents.  Rhyme  your 
passados,  balance  your  refrains,  now  on  this  side, 
now  on  that.  Stab  in  your  Ha's!  and  Ugh's!  and 
spare  not  your  God-ha'-mercies!  for  by  such  com- 
ments you  enhance  a  poorer  recital  than  you  need 
conceive.  For  the  rest  you  have  a  free  hand,  and  a 
choice  of  implements  in  the  armoury.  I  never, 
myself,  saw  a  prettier  set  of  tools,  though  by  my 
grandsire's  account  the  great  Lord  Eccelino  had  twice 
the  number.  But  we  have  a  blade  with  a  double 
crook  in  it,  a  narrow  steel,  sinuous,  like  a  watersnake. 


26  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

I  recommend  it.  We  call  it  The  Horseleech's 
Daughter — a  happy  name,  I  think.  Come  now,  col- 
league, will  you  open  the  ball?  There  is  a  fellow 
in  the  Tunnel  bursting  ripe.  Will  you  take  him  for 
a  beginning?" 

Captain  Brazenhead,  sitting  stiffly  by  the  wall, 
nursed  his  leg  in  silence.  His  mood  was  short,  his 
method  precise.  "Is  he  but  one,  then?  Do  you 
pit  me  to  one  man ? "  He  frowned .  "His  offence ? ' * 
was  his  next  question,  and  he  was  told,  deer-stealing 
in  the  Duke's  park  of  Marignano.  It  shocked  him 
out  of  his  dignity.  "What!"  he  cried.  "Am  I  to 
embellish  a  man  out  of  the  world  for  a  coUop  of 
venison?  Let  the  hangman  deal  with  him;  let  him 
dance  in  the  air — or  you  will  ask  me  next  to  whip 
dogs.'* 

Gelsomino  said:  "As  you  will.  'Tis  pity  you 
fly  off  so  fast,  for  this  is  a  great  fellow  of  his  hands. 
Not  that  he  will  look  amiss  on  the  gallows,  by  any 
means,  for  the  bulk  of  him  is  bound  to  tell.  But 
there  he  lies,  for  you  or  the  tree;  'tis  for  you  to 
say." 

Captain  Brazenhead's  eyes  had  begun  to  glitter. 
"'Tis  a  big  bulk,  you  tell  me,  and  a  man  of  his 
hands?  Bones  in  him?  Thews  to  him?  I'U  see  the 
man — I  may  make  something  of  him.  What's  his 
lodging?  The  Tunnel,  d'ye  call  it ?  Let  me  see  him, 
then." 

"It  will  be  torchlight  work,"  said  Camus;  "chancy, 
merry  work." 

"It  shall  be  merrier  than  you  guess  for,"  said 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  27 

Captain  Brazenhead,  "for  I'll  have  at  him  in  the 
dark." 

But  he  took  a  torch  with  him  when  he  went  masked 
to  his  work.  By  its  shuddering  light  he  saw  his  man 
at  the  far  end  of  the  dripping  vault — his  steady  eyes, 
his  mouth  firmly  set,  his  square  jaw;  a  broad-shoul- 
dered, high-coloured  young  man. 

Next  he  surveyed  the  theatre  of  his  operations, 
truly  named  the  Tunnel,  since  it  was  nothing  else. 
"Light  bad,  a  tricky  floor,  little  play  for  the  arm. 
We  must  thread  with  the  point,  I  see."  He  fixed 
the  torch  into  a  ring  in  the  wall,  took  off  his  cloak, 
rolled  up  his  sleeve,  cleared  his  throat,  and  said: 
"Now,  brother." 

With  lowered  head,  but  indomitable  eyes,  the 
victim  awaited  his  death-stroke.  It  came  not;  the 
tense  moment  was  sharply  broken  by  a  cry  from  the 
Executioner.  "By  the  Mass,  the  man's  tied  up!" 
He  dropped  his  sword,  and  advancing  took  a  file 
from  his  belt,  and  severed  the  manacles  which  held 
the  prisoner  fast  to  the  walls.  Having  resumed  his 
blade  and  first  position,  he  adjured  him  cheerfully. 
"Now,  then — "  But  the  other's  head  remained 
bowed,  and  he  kept  to  his  knees. 

"Little  man,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "I  am 
waiting.    Lift  up  your  head  and  play  the  soldier.'* 

The  prisoner  replied:  "I  conceive  that  I  play  that 
best  by  suffering  what  I  cannot  avoid."  Never- 
theless he  raised  his  head.  "You  intend  to  murder 
me,"  he  continued.     "I  have  commended  my  soul 


28  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

to  Goa,  and  bow  my  body  to  necessity,  not  to 
you." 

"Bow  not  at  all,  by  Cock!"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head:  "but  jump  up,  minion,  and  play  with  me. 
What!  we  are  only  young  once,  so  who  says  die?" 
He  held  out  two  swords.  "Here  is  a  choice  of  irons, 
take  which  you  will.  This  one  is  of  Pistoja,  and  is 
the  longer!  but  Ferrara  tried  this  other  seven  times 
in  the  fire.    The  choice  is  yours." 

"What  is  this?"  the  prisoner  stammered.  And 
then  he  panted  like  a  dog. 

"Battle,  my  son,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead; 
"bloody,  beauteous  battle.  No  one  is  by;  we  have 
a  fair  field.  You  know  the  ground  and  are  the  young- 
er man;  but  maybe  I  am  in  better  fettle.  I  see 
that  you  have  courage,  and  tell  you  fairly  that  I 
have  some.  To  it,  gamester,  and  the  best  throw 
wins." 

The  prisoner  sobbed,  then  laughed  aloud.  "Oh, 
wonder!"  he  cried  deliriously;  "I  had  thought  you 
my  executioner." 

"So  I  am,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead;  "make  no 
mistake." 

"And  yet — you  offer  me " 

"Why,"  said  the  Captain,  "am  I  not  to  have  my 
pleasure  as  well  as  you?  Do  you  take  me  for  a 
poulterer  or  a  cat's-meat  man?" 

The  prisoner  threw  up  his  arms.  "  Oh,"  says  he, 
"here  is  one  cast  in  a  great  mould." 

Captain  Brazenhead  accepted  the  compliment. 
"I  am  a  pretty  fighter,  I  do  believe,"  he  owned. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  29 

"Will  you  have  at  me  in  the  dark?  A  word,  and  I 
beat  out  the  torch." 

The  prisoner  had  taken  over  a  sword,  and  was 
making  cuts  in  the  air.  He  cried:  "Ha!"  and 
stamped.  Up  went  his  left  hand  as  he  lunged  for- 
ward with  gaiety.  "A  touch  I"  he  cried.  "Have 
at  you,  soldier!" 

"What  of  the  light?"  he  was  asked  severely,  and 
answered:  "Leave  it,  leave  it.  'Tis  a  pleasure  to 
see  your  face." 

"Gallantly  said,  butcher  boy,"  returned  Captain 
Brazenhead,  and  threw  himself  into  position.  "  One, 
two;  one,  two;  engage!"    And  they  closed. 

To  it  they  went,  as  merry  as  could  be,  thrusting, 
foining,  slicing.  The  deer-stealer  was  very  limber, 
and  had  a  lightning  eye.  Captain  Brazenhead 
touched  him  once  on  the  upper  arm,  but  himself 
received  no  hurt.  When  the  younger  man  cried 
"  Truce ! "  his  executioner  was  not  sorry  to  oblige  him. 

With  all  the  intentions  in  the  world  to  do  justice 
to  the  last  extremity  upon  the  malefactor  before  him. 
Captain  Brazenhead  could  not  forbear  to  admire  so 
stout  a  fighter.  And  generosity  being  the  essence  of 
him,  he  must  needs  praise  where  he  admired.  Each 
leaning  on  his  sword,  the  hero  spake:  "Comrade, 
I  see  that  thou  art  a  have-at-you  kind  of  a  dog-fox. 
Thou  hast  learned  thy  trade  in  a  good  school  of 
fence." 

"The  best,"  said  the  prisoner,  deep-breathing. 

"Thou  hast  served  Burgundy!"    This  was  one 


30  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

of  the  Captain's  flashes  of  inspiration,  and  it  sped 
Hke  an  arrow  to  the  mark. 

Reverberation  thrilled  from  the  prisoner,  as  memo- 
ries kindled  in  his  eyes.  "Ah,  and  so  I  have,"  he 
said,  "and  with  brave  fellows.  The  days  were  too 
long,  or  the  nights  too  short,  for  the  game  we  loved. 
I  know  not  which  was  the  matter." 

"'Tis  little  matter  either  way,"  mused  aloud  his 
executioner,  who  in  turn  was  deeply  stirred.  "  Many 
found  them  the  same."  He  looked  darkling  at  the 
other — darkling  and  shrewdly.  "Knewest  thou  the 
Fish  ?  The  Thumb-marked  Fish  in  Besanfon  ?  And 
Long-eared  Noll,  the  drawer  there?"  The  prisoner 
raised  an  eyebrow  and  smiled  awry.  "Eh,  if  I  knew 
them!    Hark  to  this  drinker!" 

But  the  Captain  leaned  intensely  forward,  his 
voice  down  to  a  whisper.     "Say — and  Joconde?" 

The  prisoner  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  foe. 
"She  and  I,"  said  he  carefully,  "were  old  enemies. 
She  beat  me  at  last." 

"Aye!"  cried  the  Captain,  on  fire,  "aye!  and  so  she 
would.    A  many  went  down." 

"Among  them  was  I,"  the  prisoner  confessed; 
"but  there  was  one,  a  tall  man,  who  never  failed." 

"Ha!"  said  Brazenhead,  hoarsely.  "What,  a 
hollow  man,  a  drinker?" 

"He  could  drink  against  twelve." 

**  And  was  ready  with  his  blade  ?" 

"He  was  ready." 

"Hairy?  A  deep  and  curious  swearer?  Could 
notch  a  shaft  to  purpose?" 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  31 

*'My  arm,"  said  the  prisoner,  "was  the  cross- 
bow; but  that  man  had  a  long  arm." 

The  Captain  was  trembling.  **His  name,  his 
name,  Burgundian?" 

The  answer  came  slowly.  **They  called  the  man 
Tite-d^airain,  with  reason.  I  loved  him,  as  you 
might  love  the  Pope  of  Rome — ^that  is,  with  reverence, 
from  afar." 

His  hearer  gulped  down  his  emotion.  ** Thy  name, 
then,  is ?" 

"Bemart,"  he  said,  **is  my  name  of  the  Church. 
But  they  called  me  Tranche-coupe  for  short." 

Captain  Brazenhead  lightly  plucked  off  his  mask, 
and  held  his  arms  out  wide.  ''To  my  bosom,  child! 
to  my  breast!  I  am  thy  dear  gossip  Brazenhead!" 
There  followed  an  affecting  scene.  .  .  . 

"I  carved  my  name  upon  him,"  was  the  substance 
of  the  Third  Murderer's  report  to  his  master  and  lord. 
'*I  carved  my  name  out  upon  him,  and  he  died  of 
the  dot  on  the  i.  So  perish  all  thine  enemies,  Milan !" 
But  it  is  nevertheless  the  fact  that  Bemart  Tranche- 
coupe  lay  snug  on  straw  in  a  cellar,  awaiting  the 
orders  of  his  executioner  and  friend. 

Captain  Brazenhead  has  been  blamed  for  this 
clemency,  but  not  by  me.  He  had  intended  to  do 
his  work  when  his  blood  was  properly  warmed  by 
battle,  and  but  for  his  memories  would  have  done  it. 
I  think  it  was  the  name  and  hardy  shadow  of  Joconde 
that  saved  the  Burgundian. 


CHAPTER  VI 

DESPERATE  DOINGS  WITH  A  BISCAYAN 

When  he  was  told  off  for  the  duty  of  strangling 
three  ruffians  who  lay  chained  in  the  Well  of  Santa 
Chiara,  Captain  Brazenhead  hesitated,  but  only  for 
a  moment.  It  appears  that,  for  once,  he  doubted  of 
his  prowess.  *'  'Tis  true,  I  once  hanged  a  running 
dog,  when  I  was  a  lad,"  he  allowed;  "but  since  then 
the  sword  hath  been  my  arm;  and  sometimes  the 
long-bow,  sometimes  the  long-bow.  Yet  tell  me  over 
their  names  and  conditions,  that  I  may  consider 
them." 

The  three  prisoners,  they  told  him,  were  Lo  Spa- 
gna,  Squarcialupo,  and  a  nameless  young  man,  an 
Egyptian.  Lo  Spagna  was  a  one-armed  man  of 
surpassing  strength  and  infamous  conversation,  con- 
sorting with  Hussites  and  Waldensians,  suspected 
of  a  plot  to  take  off  the  Duke  in  the  Sacrament. 
Squarcialupo  was  old  in  sin.  He  had  been  in  the 
galleys  at  Lerici,  and  having  torn  up  a  bench  with  his 
teeth,  had  used  it  as  a  club  and  freed  himself.  Re- 
taken at  Bergamo,  he  had  been  offered  his  freedom 
upon  condition  that  he  would  eat  one  of  his  fellows 
on  the  chain,  and  had  shortly  refused.  "A  very  con- 
tumacious villain,"  was  Captain  Brazenhead's  com- 

3a 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  33 

ment;  **but  too  good  for  the  cord.  Well,  and  who 
is  your  third?" 

Nothing  was  known  about  the  Egyptian,  save  that 
he  had  a  ragged  ear,  and  was  branded  on  the  shoulder 
with  a  galloping  horse.  *'Why,"  says  the  Captain, 
"and  how  else  would  you  brand  an  Egyptian?  But 
continue."  This  Egyptian,  they  said,  was  in  the 
Well,  on  the  information  of  the  Augustinian  Order, 
for  atheism.  At  this  the  Captain's  eyes  showed  a 
dangerous  light.  "What!  he  denies  God!  If  he 
does  so,  he  strangles;  but  I'll  never  believe  it  of  any 
but  the  Jews." 

There  seemed  no  room  for  doubt,  howeVer.  The 
proof  was  that  when  he  was  put  before  an  image  of  the 
Holy  Virgin,  he  addressed  it  in  an  unknown  tongue, 
which  was  exactly  what  a  man  would  do  when  he 
intended  to  deny  her  divine  attributes. 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "It  looks  black 
against  him,  and  so  it  does.  I  take  a  whipcord  in 
my  poke  for  this  renegado.  He  shall  say  the  Ave 
'backwards  before  he  chokes." 

One  whipcord,  then,  three  sacks,  and  three  swords 
besides  his  own,  formed  his  equipment  for  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Law's  decree.  "  There  may  be  nothing  in 
it,  after  all,"  he  considered,  "and  I'll  not  spoil  sport 
until  I  am  obliged."  It  will  be  seen  that  he  again 
intended  to  temper  justice  with  hard  knocks. 

To  the  Pozzo  Santa  Chiara  he  strode  in  his  awful 
array,  and  was  lowered  into  it  by  a  bucket  on  a 
windlass.  Now,  the  Well  was  literally  that,  thirty 
feet  deep  and  fifteen  across.    In  the  midst  was  a 


34  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

brick  pier,  to  the  which  the  three  condemned  ruffians 
were  fettered,  two  by  the  leg  and  one  by  the  neck. 
The  rains  might  rot  and  the  sun  shrivel  them,  for  all 
was  open  to  the  sky. 

The  dreadful  apparition  of  a  man,  whiskered, 
gigantic,  masked,  clothed  in  blood-red,  with  four 
swords  under  his  arm,  three  sacks  over  his  shoulder, 
and  the  end  of  a  whipcord  hanging  from  his  trunks, 
produced  its  unfailing  effect.  The  chained  wretches 
backed  the  length  of  their  tether,  and  squatting  on 
their  hams,  blinked  and  gibbered  at  their  doom. 
The  Egyptian,  clasping  his  brown  knees  in  his  hands, 
buried  his  face  between  them  and  appeared  to  be 
praying  to  the  devil. 

Nothing  in  the  executioner's  first  words  extenuated 
their  despair. 

"Friends  of  misery,"  he  said,  "you  bond-servants 
of  concupiscence,  an  offended  God  and  the  Law's 
sacred  nature  alike  demand  your  righteous  extermi- 
nation. They  demand  it  of  me,  Testadirame,  and 
it  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  fail  them.  Prepare  then 
to  account  for  the  uttermost  farthing  of  your  debts, 
and  see  me  notch  the  tallies,  by  Cock."  The 
Egyptian  did  not  move  nor  cease  his  prayers; 
Squarcialupo  sniffed  through  one  nostril,  while  he 
held  the  other  firmly  against  his  knee.  "Stand  up, 
Lo  Spagna,"  the  Captain  roared,  "stand  up,  you 
left-handed  devil,  and  meet  Testadirame,  drinker 
of  blood." 

The  little,  black-bearded,  snub-nosed  man,  bent 
nearly  double  amidships,  shuffled  to  his  feet,  and 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  35 

saluted  the  dreadful  swordsman.  He,  erect  and  dis- 
cerning, assorted  him  at  once. 

"There  is  this  to  be  said  of  thee,  Lo  Spagna,  that 
if  thou  hast  lost  an  arm,  thou  canst  spare  it  better 
than  most.  That  which  thou  hast  is  too  long  by 
cubits.  What,  Barbary,  canst  thou  scratch  a  flea? 
Canst  thou  pitch  a  cocoanut?  Ha,  tree-topster, 
show  thy  tail,  then." 

At  this  shocking  mirth  Lo  Spagna  mouthed  un- 
easily, and  uneasily  rubbed  his  knee.  Captain  Braz- 
enhead  shook  his  sword  at  him.  "Say  the  Credo, 
thou  toe-fingered  mock  man,  say  the  Credo,  or  I  lop 
thee  into  fire- wood  lengths,  for  the  doubter  I  believe 
thee."  By  a  pardonable  confusion  he  had  supposed 
him  the  atheist  of  the  party,  and  was  greatly  sur- 
prised. ^^  Credo  in  unum  deum  omnipoteniem,^^  the 
fellow  quavered  forth,  and  finished  without  a  throw- 
back.    By  force  of  habit  his  yokemates  quired  Amen. 

So  far  the  wretch  had  cleared  himself.  "This  is 
indifferent  well,"  admitted  his  executioner,  and  bent 
frowning  brows  upon  Lo  Spagna,  considering  how 
he  should  most  surely  convict  him  of  sin.  "Now 
listen  to  me,"  said  he,  sure  of  his  man.  "Thou  hast 
crossed  the  Bidassoa." 

Accusation  of  an  unheard-of  crime  caused  the 
little  man  to  dance  up  and  down,  like  a  bear  asking 
for  supper.  He  protested  vehemently.  "Never,  my 
lord,  by  all  my  hopes!  I  would  not  do  it — I  should 
shame  to  do  it — oh,  that  I  should  live  to  be  accused 
of  such  a  deed.  I  am  an  old  Christian,  my  lord,  a 
very  old  Christian,  and  the  only  cross  I  know  is  that 


36  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

of  salvation."  He  began  to  chant:  "O  Crux!  O 
Crux  spes  unica!  O  lignum  vike,  stirps  Davidius!  O 
scBcula  scBctUorumP'  And  looking  keenly  up:  "You 
see  that  I  have  my  clergy." 

But  the  Captain  spumed  him.  "I  see  that  thou 
art  a  very  vile  Biscayan,  clergyman  or  none.  Yet  for 
the  sake  of  a  little  person,  known  to  me  in  Bilboa, 
when  I  was  there  in  '89,  thou  shalt  fight  with  me  for 
thy  deplorable  life.  I  had  believed  thee  an  atheist, 
upon  my  soul,  and  had  a  cord  for  thy  wry  neck. 
'Tis  better  for  thee  to  be  a  one-armed  ape  of  Spain 
than  so  outrageous  a  fellow.  Hold  thee  still  now, 
while  I  loose  thy  fetter." 

The  little  man  was  loosed,  and  slowly,  pleasur- 
ably,  straightened  himself. 

"By  stretching,"  said  the  Captain,  "thou  mightest 
reach  my  nipple  yet.  Horrid  food  for  thee  there, 
Biscayan.  Take  now  what  blade  thou  wilt.  This 
of  Ferrara  is  the  longest;  have  thou  that.  Stay  a 
little.  Tie  me  up  my  right  arm  with  this  cord, 
wherewith  I  shall  shortly  strangle  the  atheist  when 
I  have  found  him.  Tie  me  close,  dog.  Dost  thou 
think  that  I  would  crow  over  a  Biscayan  the  less?" 
Deftly  Lo  Spagna  bound  him  up,  and  they  began 
their  bout.  The  other  pair,  squatting  by  the  pillar, 
watched  and  wondered,  and  hoped  greatly. 

The  Biscayan,  if  such  he  was,  proved  himself  a 
marvel  of  his  age  and  nation.  Such  agility,  lightning 
advance  and  retreat,  thrust  and  parry,  had  scarcely 
been  seen  since  Bernardo  del  Carpio  engaged  the 
dwarf  Malimart.    He  would  run  in,  drive  and  duck; 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  37 

then  turn  and  fly  like  the  wind.  Such  were  his  tac- 
tics. Twice  Captain  Brazenhead,  thinking  to  have 
him,  chased  him  round  the  hmits  of  the  well.  But 
Lo  Spagna  ran  so  fast  that  he  caught  his  enemy  up. 
Pursuer  became  pursued;  the  unchivalrous  might 
have  said  it  was  the  greater  man  who  ran,  the  justiciar 
who  fled  from  justice ;  but  we  know  that  it  could  not 
be  so.  Pursuing  who  might,  they  ran  like  grey- 
hounds: then  to  it  again,  one,  two,  one,  two,  until  for 
a  third  time  the  Biscayan,  stooping,  ran  in  and  de- 
livered his  point.  Turning  immediately,  he  ran,  his 
fate  after  him.  Captain  Brazenhead  chased  Lo 
Spagna,  Lo  Spagna  sped  faster  and  chased  Captain 
Brazenhead.  Then  suddenly,  as  they  shpped  round 
like  beetles  in  a  cask,  the  Egyptian  edged  out  a  foot 
and  brought  the  Captain  down.  Was  this  treason? 
I  fear  it.  Lo  Spagna  buffeted  into  him  and  flew 
over  his  head,  his  length  on  the  floor.  Immediately 
Captain  Brazenhead  arose,  set  his  foot  on  the  other's 
chest,  and  nicked  the  point  of  his  sword  into  his 
throat.  "  I  dig — thou  diest — is  a  good  verb,  and  an 
active  verb.  Phew!  Bilboan,  thou  art  a  monarch 
of  the  chase.  Say  thy  prayers  now,  say  thy  prayers, 
for  I  must  kill  a  man  this  day — and  why  not  thee? 
But  that  none  shall  say  that  I  deal  unfairly  by  a  fine 
Httle  rogue,  have  at  thee  left-handed.   Now  beware." 

The  Biscayan  writhed  under  the  sword's  point. 
"One  word,one  word,  noble  enemy,"  he  faintly  urged. 

"Say  on,  dead  man."  It  had  been  fine  to  have 
watched  the  Egyptian  just  then — the  pondering, 
sphinx-like  face  he  had. 


38  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

"That  little  person  of  my  people  known  to  your 
Excellency — had  she  a  red  poll?"  Thus  far  the 
Biscayan.    The  Captain's  eyes  grew  dreamy. 

"  It  was  something  reddish.  There  was  a  tang.  I 
know  that  I  called  her  Judas  when  I  was  merry,  and 
Foxy  when  she  crossed  me." 

"  And  her  eyes,  noble  sir  ?    Her  pair  eyes  ?" 

"They  were  not  what  you  would  call  a  pair,"  said 
the  Captain.  "But  one  was  well  enough,  inclining 
to  the  yellow.  With  that  she  could  make  pretty 
work,  I  assure  you." 

"And  so  she  could,"  the  Bilboan  said,  "and  I 
should  know  it,  for  she  was  my  aunt." 

Starting,  Captain  Brazenhead  somewhat  recoiled, 
and  in  so  doing  plucked  his  sword  out  of  Lo  Spagna's 
neck  with  the  kind  of  noise  you  make  when  you  draw 
a  cork.  A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  the  prisoner's 
features;  but  in  his  eyes  hope  shone  bright. 

As  for  Captain  Brazenhead,  he  knew  that  he  must 
once  more  have  mercy.  "  Cock's  body,  and  is  the 
world  so  paltry  small?"  The  sword's  point  dropped 
nerveless  to  the  ground.  "I  spare  thee,  Bilboan,  for 
thy  aunt's  merry  sake.  Thou  mayst  bless  her  name 
in  thy  prayers." 

"  She  was  a  fine  woman,"  said  the  little  man,  sitting 
up  and  closing  the  wound  in  his  neck.  "  May  she  go 
with  God!" 

"  She  was  a  knowing  one,"  replied  Brazenhead.  He 
turned  to  his  business.  "Into  the  sack  with  thee, 
Barbary,  and  lie  quiet  until  I  have  done  with  those 
pampered  rogues."  Here  the  Egyptian  wetted  his  lips. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  39 

"Sir,"  said  the  Biscayan,  "I  will  help  you  there, 
if  I  may,  for  my  aunt's  sake." 

*'By  Cock,  and  you  shall!"  the  hero  cried.  "A 
main!  a  main!  Three  arms  to  four!  Stand  up,  you 
drolls." 

He  turned  short  upon  the  chained  men,  who  were 
already  on  their  feet,  a  murderous  couple:  the  one,  a 
square-headed,  heavy  man  of  past  middle  life,  with 
hanging  chops  and  not  a  hair  upon  him ;  the  other, 
the  Egyptian,  hatchet-faced,  lithe,  and  walnut-brown, 
with  restless  eyes  which  could  never  meet  yours,  and 
tight  lips  never  soothed  by  smiling.  The  bigger  was 
enormously  strong.  His  muscles  rippled  as  he  moved, 
like  incoming  waves.  The  younger  was  all  wire  and 
brain:  no  ruth  was  in  either,  nor  law,  nor  quarter. 
Captain  Brazenhead  sized  them  up  and  down  when 
he  had  set  them  free. 

''Now,  my  bravoes,"  he  said,  *'we  shall  have 
sport.  You  know  my  way,  and  if  ever  I  saw  rufflers, 
ambushmen  behind  a  hedge,  or  outlaws  in  a  clump  of 
scrub,  then  do  I  know  your  way  also."  He  flung  two 
swords  with  a  generous  gesture  at  their  feet,  then  bal- 
anced his  own.  ''Take  your  fancy,  little  men,  and 
get  to  work.  There's  light  enough  for  the  game  we 
play,  and  a  rare  game  it  shall  be."  The  Bilboan 
lined  up  with  him,  and  he  set  on  with  a  shout. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DOUBLE  BATTLE 

It  was  rare,  very  rare:  a  game  for  the  heroes  in  the 
trenches  about  Ilium,  when  Diomede  fought  waist- 
deep  in  dead  men,  and  yellow-haired  Menelaus 
ranged  disconsolate  the  walls,  crying  upon  the  false 
thief  Paris  to  show  himself.  From  the  hush  of  prep- 
aration to  Captain  Brazenhead's  cry  of  onset  was 
but  a  moment  of  long  breath;  and  then  inunediately 
the  ring  was  alive  with  whirling  blades,  and  steel 
clanged  on  steel  like  church  bells  of  an  Easter  morn- 
ing. Brazenhead  raged  like  a  plunging  horse.  He 
seemed  everywhere  at  once — ^wallowing  in  his  work, 
snorting,  shaking  his  head.  Like  a  strong  swimmer 
newly  in  the  water,  rejoicing  to  feel  the  tide,  so  did  he 
breast  the  waves  of  battle.  Ever  on  the  look-out  for 
advantage,  the  Egyptian  writhed  in  and  out,  or 
darted  like  an  eel,  now  this  side,  now  that;  and  the 
Bilboan,  bending  at  the  knees,  ran  in  where  he  could 
and  cut  left-handed  at  the  heavy  Italian.  That  livid 
giant  was  sore  beset,  and  by  his  breathing  betrayed 
himself.  So  long  as  he  kept  his  wind  he  did  well — 
as  when  he  laid  open  Captain  Brazenhead's  forearm 
with  a  smashing  blow,  and  cut  down  the  Bilboan  as  if 
he  had  been  a  hemlock.    But  alas  for  him!  even  as 

40 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  41 

he  roared  his  triumph  Brazenhead  set  upon  him,  and 
mowing  at  the  tendons  of  his  knees,  missed  his  aim 
indeed,  but  split  open  one  of  his  calves  horizontally 
and  laid  him  his  length.  When  one  of  that  party — 
the  Egyptian,  I  believe — cried  a  halt,  Squarcialupo 
could  not  rise  above  one  knee,  and  then  his  wounded 
calf  could  be  seen,  notched  like  a  leg  of  mutton.  All 
the  champions  were  hurt;  the  Egyptian  had  lost  his 
ragged  ear,  and  might  have  been  seen  shaking  the 
blood  out  of  his  head  before  the  fighting  stopped. 
Two  fingers  the  less  was  the  brave  Biscayan.  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  might  well  swing  his  forearm;  but 
Squarcialupo  was  down  and  could  fight  no  more. 
The  conqueror — all  duty  to  his  Prince  cast  to  the 
wind — felt  magnanimous,  little  disposed  to  insist  upon 
his  right. 

**  Bleed  on  your  sacks,  bleed  on  your  sacks,  you 
rogues!"  he  cried  upon  his  victims,  ''or  how  shall  I 
carry  you  through  Milan  for  dead?"  Grinning  at 
his  ruse,  they  obeyed  him.  The  Captain  sat  upon  the 
ground  and  surveyed  them. 

"Squarcialupo,  my  old  son,"  he  said,  **let  us  take 
up  your  business.  You  broke  from  your  oar,  they 
tell  me,  and  I'll  not  blame  you  for  it.  I  would  have 
done  the  same.  But  what  kind  of  a  fool  am  I,  think 
you,  to  be  lagged  again?" 

"Captain,"  said  the  Italian  hoarsely,  looking  with 
intense  interest  at  the  fountain  in  his  leg,  "  it  was  done 
by  t:raft.  I  am  something  of  a  drinker,  you  must 
know.  Now,  as  I  lay  in  the  sun,  sleeping  off  my 
draught,  the  Duke's  archers  came  upon  me  and 


42 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 


knew  me  again ;  and  I  awoke  to  find  myself  in  this 
hole." 

"Knew  thee  again,  sayst  thou?"  Brazenhead 
picked  him  up.  "Explain  me  that  saying,  I'll 
trouble  thee." 

"I  am  a  Pisan,  noble  Captain,"  said  Squarcialupo, 
"and  followed  the  fleet,  making  war  upon  the  Geno- 
ese ;  and  when  I  was  rifling  a  corpse — as  it  might  be 
you  or  me — it  turned  out  to  be  no  corpse  at  all,  but  a 
quicker  man  than  I  was.  So  they  chained  me  to  a 
bench  in  the  galleys,  and  there  I  sweated  for  six  years 
less  one.    Therefore,  sir " 

"Therefore!  Therefore!  No  therefore  at  all, 
thou  paltry  fellow,"  the  Captain  roared,  sternly 
frowning.  "What  have  thy  beastly  habits  to  do 
with  my  question?  'Twas  Genoa  chained  thee  to 
a  bench — and  Genoa  was  wise.  But  if  they  knew 
thee  again  in  Milan,  they  had  known  thee  of  old.  " 

"Why,  yes,  sir,"  the  heavy  Italian  replied;  ''long 
ago,  when  I  took  the  old  Duke  Bamaby's  pay  for  the 
war  in  Piedmont " 

"Bleed  on  your  sack!"  the  Captain  interrupted 
him.  "Bleed  on  your  sack!  See  what  a  quag  you 
make  out  here!" 

"And  valiantly  I  should  have  served  him  but  for 
an  evil  acquaintance  I  made.  For  in  his  service  there 
was  a  spearman,  a  most  rascally  knave,  if  not  the 
devil  in  person,  who  beguiled  me  with  hopes  of  high 
renown  combined  with  comfort.  Sir,  he  was  the 
plausiblest,  God-bless-you  kind  of  a  man  that  ever 
you  saw — and  you  will  have  seen  many " 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  43 

Captain  Brazenhead's  face  was  a  study  at  this  time. 
Profound  meditation,  humour,  judgment,  acquaint- 
ance with  villainy,  benevolence:  all  knowledge  could 
be  read  there.  He  covered  his  mouth  with  his  hand, 
his  hand  with  his  nose,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  as  if  to 
say:  "Proceed,  son." 

''And  says  this  sly  one  to  me  over  the  camp-fire: 
'Hark  ye,  jail-bird' — for  he  had  a  pleasant  name 
for  everybody — 'knowst  thou  aught  of  a  convoy  that 
comes  this  way?'  'A  convoy?'  says  I.  'What 
convoy?'  Just  like  that  I  said  it,  civil-spoken;  and 
says  he:  'Treasure;  hire  for  the  troops;'  and  lays  his 
finger  along  his  nose,  as  you  might  do." 

It  so  happened  that  Captain  Brazenhead  was 
doing  exactly  that,  and  no  less.  The  coincidence 
startled  him;  he  dropped  his  hand  and  began  to 
hum  an  air. 

The  Italian  resumed:  "'And  what  of  that?'  says 
myself.  'We  have  our  share,  I  suppose?'  Says  he 
darkly,  'look  to  it  that  we  do.'  To  be  brief  with  you, 
sir,  he  did  beguile  me  into  a  dark  venture — me  and  a 
company  of  eight  Christians — that  with  horses  and 
arms  we  went  up  the  sea-road  some  six  leagues  by 
night,  and  there  lay  hid  in  a  little  wood,  and  stood  by 
our  arms  all  night,  and  heard  him  tell  tales — this 
wily,  hairy  man.  And  in  the  gray  of  dawn  came  the 
convoy  down  the  sea-road,  a  round  dozen  of  men-at- 
arms,  with  the  treasure  on  mules'  backs;  and  at  the 
word  of  command:  'Leap,  ye  thousand  devils!'  out 
we  did  leap,  and  put  those  men  to  the  sword ;  and  the 
muleteers  fled,  believing  that  hairy  man's  word  that 


44  THE  DUKE   OF  MILAN 

we  were  a  thousand — though  we  were  but  eight 
Christians  and  one  devil." 

Captain  Brazenhead  cheered  the  speaker:  *'0 
brave!    It  was  bravely  done,  my  brother!" 

"Not  so  brave  as  you  might  suppose,"  said  the 
Italian,  with  grief  thickening  his  voice.  "When  we 
came  to  share  the  plunder,  what  think  you  fell  to  me 
out  of  all  that  booty  untold  ?  Three  sols  Tournois, 
as  I'm  a  hoping  soul — and  if  I  had  remained  snug  in 
camp  I  had  had  fifty.  But,  said  that  deceiver,  I  was 
the  best-nourished  man  he  had  ever  set  eyes  on,  and 
therefore " 

"'Therefore*  will  be  thy  ruin,  Demetrio,"  said 
Captain  Brazenhead.  "I  gave  you  four,  which  is 
enough  for  any  man  not  a  leader  of  a  company.  But 
now,  look  you,  I  spare  your  life  for  the  sake  of  our  old 
friendship.  You  shall  go  alive  into  that  sack,  and 
drink  my  health  this  night  in  a  flagon  or  two  of  right 
liquor — you,  man,  who,  but  for  my  clemency,  might 
have  been  paddling  upon  red-hot  bricks,  mingling 
fires  for  your  new  prince,  Beelzebub.  Think  of  it, 
Demetrio,  and  rejoice  greatly — and  there's  for  you 
and  your  three  sols  Tournois.  For  I'll  go  into  the 
fire  myself  for  it  that  I  gave  you  the  four." 

Sedately,  with  a  very  stiff  leg,  the  large  Italian 
crawled  into  his  sack,  and  lay  hidden  there  beside  the 
Biscayan,  who  was  by  this  time  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW    CAPTAIN    BRAZENHEAD,    AGAINST    HIS    BETTER 
JUDGMENT,  SPARED  THE  EGYPTIAN 

The  Eg)^tian,  who  had  been  lying  his  length  upon 
the  sack,  destined,  as  he  hoped,  to  receive  him  alive, 
and  who  had  lost  nothing  of  the  conversations  be- 
tween his  fellow-prisoners  and  their  great  opponent, 
now  arose  to  his  feet  and  came  wheedling  to  Captain 
Brazenhead. 

''You  shall  spare  me  also,  noble  Captain,  if  you 
please,  to  be  a  credit  to  you  yet." 

"That,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "will  you  never 
be." 

The  Egyptian  sighed.  "Who  knows?"  he  in- 
quired.    "Sir,  if  you  will  but  listen  to  my  tale " 

The  Captain  frowned  upon  him.  "Fair  and  softly 
with  your  tale,"  he  said.  "Why  should  I  listen  to 
thee,  rascal,  since  thou  must  die?" 

"Die,  Captain!  Oh,  Captain!"  The  Egyptian 
shivered. 

"Aye,"  said  Brazenhead,  "die  is  the  word."  He 
was  irritated  with  the  man.  "Cock's  wounds!"  he 
cried  out,  "am  I  Executioner  to  the  Duke  of  Milan, 
and  execute  no  man  ?  Is  it  to  be  said  of  me :  *  Testa- 
dirame  is  an  unprofitable  servant'?  Never  in  life! 
Dog,  thou  diest!" 

4S 


46  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

The  Egyptian  shook  hke  a  straw  in  the  wind. 
**  But,  sir,  having  spared  the  life  of  a  Spanish  rene- 
gado — "  he  began  to  plead. 

"Pooh!"  says  the  Captain.  "I. played  with  his 
aunt." 

"Alas!"  said  the  Egyptian,  "alas!  that  I  am  an 
orphan!  But  so  it  is  that  when  I  left  Lutterworth 
in  fair,  green  England — "  Here  he  paused  and 
scanned  the  stern  man's  face  to  see  if  Lutterworth 
were  to  help  him.  It  was  not;  he  had  touched  no 
chord.     Captain  Brazenhead's  features  were  marble. 

"Proceed,  Egyptian,"  he  said;  "I  listen.  When 
thou  leftest  Lutterworth " 

"When  I  left  Lutterworth,  and  went  to  seek  my 
fortune  in  London,  I  lived  happily  enough  with  a 
brave  company  gathered  in  Houndsditch,  in  the  fields 
there,  about  the  'Old  Cat'  tavern — does  your  honour 
not  remember  Catherine — Kate  Wryneck,  called  also 
'Drink  to  me  only'?" 

Captain  Brazenhead  spoke  as  one  in  a  dream.  "I 
do  not,"  he  said.     "Get  on!" 

The  Egyptian,  most  uneasy,  shifted  his  ground. 
"Alack  the  day,  noble  Captain,  in  the  which  I  left 
that  proud  city  and  went  down  with  a  horse  to  sell — 
to  Bristol " 

Captain  Brazenhead  started,  snorted,  and  pounced 
upon  him. 

*  *  That  horse  thou  stolest ,  vile  thief !  He  is  branded 
on  thy  shoulder;  thou  art  a  dead  man.  A  flea-bitten 
white  gelding — that  screwed  the  off -hind  foot " 

"Oh,  sir,  oh,  sir!"  cried  the  Egyptian,  falling  on  his 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  47 

knees.  "That  horse  was  never  yours!"  His  case 
was  parlous;  you  may  touch  the  chords  too  often,  it 
seems.    But  no! 

*'By  Cock,  and  it  was  not,"  said  the  Captain,  '^but 
I  knew  the  horse.  The  man  that  owned  it — or  called 
himself  the  owner " 

"Aye,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  with  gleaming 
eyes — "aye,  sir,  right,  sir — so  he  called  himself;  but 
he  lied,  sir." 

"I'll  warrant  that  he  did,"  said  Brazenhead;  "for 
he  was  not  called  Glossy  Tom  for  nothing.  Well, 
then — "  Hesitation  marked  for  the  first  time  his 
incisive  lineaments  and  dissipated  the  lightning  of 
his  eyes.  The  Egyptian  considered  his  case  settled. 
"Since  I  prove  to  be  of  the  number  of  your  friends, 
dear  sir,"  he  ventured — but  too  hastily.  The  Cap- 
tain recoiled. 

* '  A  friend ,  thou ! ' '  He  towered  over  the  man .  "I 
fancied  the  horse,  'tis  true,  and  thou  wast  before- 
hand with  me.  Pooh!  I  had  but  to  stretch  out 
mine  hand.  And  now  I  remember  that  thou  art  a 
horrible  knave.  Didst  thou  not  address  Our  Lady 
in  an  unknown  tongue  full  of  blasphemy  ?  Horse  or 
no  horse,  I  tell  thee  that  thou  diest." 

Trembling,  looking  all  ways  for  help,  muttering 
with  his  pale  lips,  the  wretched  Egyptian  faltered: 
"It  was  the  tongue  I  know  best,  noble  Captain.  .  I 
am  a  very  pious  Christian,  better  than  some  who  have 
their  Latin.  I  spoke  in  the  Roman  to  her  Ladyship 
— and  she  heard  me.  I  prove  that,  sir,  I  prove  that ! " 
His  eyes  gleamed;  you  could  see  the  whites  of  them. 


48  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

**The  proof  that  she  heard  me,"  he  said,  "is  that 
you  are  here,  her  lieutenant  in  this  wicked  place — 
yourself  an  Englishman " 

"By  the  Mass,"  replied  the  Captain,  "all  this  may 
be  very  true,  and  yet  be  woundily  inconvenient." 
He  held  his  chin,  and  this  time  the  young  man  be- 
lieved himself  snatched  out  of  the  pit.  He  came  for- 
ward obsequiously,  bending  at  the  knees.  Captain 
Brazenhead  roared  at  him  to  hold  off. 

"I  forswear  my  nation!"  he  cried,  "I  become 
Lombard!  I  will  embrace  Jewry  before  I  let  thee 
go!" 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  Egyptian  now  held  him 
by  the  knee.  "Captain,"  prayed  he,  "noble  Cap- 
tain, you  will  never  break  a  man  who  got  the  better 
of  you  in  a  horse-deal." 

"Who  says  that  I  will  not?"  And  yet  he  was 
touched.  If  he  could  spare  Squarcialupo  of  whom 
he  had  made  a  fool,  how  not  this  oily  rogue  who  had 
made  a  fool  of  him  ?  And  it  was  not  to  be  denied  the 
fellow  had  fought  for  his  skin.  Captain  Brazenhead 
had  it  not  in  him  to  take  life  in  the  cool  of  his  bile. 
He  was  so  made  that  he,  who  would  cut  a  man's 
liver  out  of  him  in  fair  fighting,  came  afterwards  to 
love  his  enemy  if  he  had  so  much  as  scratched  him. 
He  knew  that  this  was  a  weakness.  "Look  you,"  he 
was  wont  to  say  to  his  opponent,  "If  you  would  save 
yourself  from  me,  wound  me  where  you  can.  I  con- 
sider you  carrion  at  this  speaking,  but  he  who  draws 
my  blood  wears  armour  of  proof  for  me.  Now,  then, 
have  at  you,  soldier!" 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  49 

Meditating  his  own  nature  and  deploring  it,  mut- 
tering to  himself:  "Maybe  I  do  wrong — I  do  grudge 
this  fellow  his  mercy — ^upon  my  soul  I  do  grudge  it 
him,"  Captain  Brazenhead  remained  intensely  in 
thought  for  many  minutes,  his  head  sunk  upon  his 
breast,  his  arms  folded.  At  last,  as  if  suddenly 
awaking  out  of  sleep,  he  threw  his  chin  up  and 
stamped  with  his  foot.  ''Into  your  sack,  you  black- 
livered  hound !  May  Hell  forgive  me  the  wrong  I  do 
him  this  day,  and  count  it  not  against  me  when  mine 
Cometh!"  It  was  a  sight  to  see  how  the  Egyptian 
slipped  in — like  a  terrier  into  kennel  when  the  whip 
is  whistling. 

There,  then,  for  good  or  evil,  in  their  sanguine 
wrappings,  lay  the  three  ransomed  men;  there  over 
them,  like  a  meditative  god,  stood  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  with  a  hand  to  grasp  his  chin,  and  one  finger 
of  it  to  rake  in  his  moustachios.  He  set  a  foot  upon 
the  round  of  a  sack;  deeply,  profoundly,  he  thought 
upon  mercy,  justice,  judgment,  the  weighing  of  souls 
and  such-like  themes;  and  here,  if  you  will  have  it, 
is  a  summary  of  his  reflections. 

*'Now  have  I  here  ensacked  four  indififerent  ras- 
cals bound  straitly  to  my  person  by  cords  of  steel. 
They  worship  me  as  the  author  of  their  being,  as  in 
a  sense  I  am.  No  doubt  they  would  follow  me  all 
over  the  world ;  a  body-guard  the  like  of  which  the 
Duke  of  Milan  might  pray  for  night  and  day — and 
with  him  all  long  Italy."  His  eye  flashed  fire. 
"Long  Italy!  Long  Italy!  By  their  means  I  make 
good  the  soothsay  that  I  heard  in  the  tavern  of  Pa  via 


50  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

when,  with  my  foot  upon  Lisciassangue's  remains, 
I  vaunted.  There  lies  long  Italy. 

"  It  was  true,  by  Cock,  for  all  that,  when  I  spake,  I 
spake  as  in  a  glass  darkly.  Aye,  darkly,  but  it  was 
true.  For  see  me  now!  To  each  of  my  four  scoun- 
drels there  will  adhere — like  ticks  to  a  sheep's  back — 
lesser  scoundrels,  to  each  one  ten  at  least.  That 
gives  me  four-and-forty  desperate  men;  and  with 
forty  men  you  may  take  a  gate-house — and  hold  it, 
by  Cock's  body!  Nay,  you  may  get,  by  shock,  a 
town,  as  my  lord  John  Swynford  got  Coulanges  in 
Brittany  on  a  foggy  night  of  Martinmas,  and  became 
viscount  thereof,  and  sweated  meat  out  of  the  bur- 
gesses, and  honey  out  of  their  wives,  and  levied  toll 
upon  all  and  sundry  faring  that  way  into  France, 
and  took  to  wife  Melisette,  daughter  of  Simon  de 
Fotz,  and  got  a  son,  who  is  Viscount  of  Coulanges 
to  this  day.  Viscount  of  Coulanges — Viscount  of 
Pavia!  Put  it  so  that  I  catch  Pavia  unawares  and 
become  its  viscount — what  then?  A  royal  begin- 
ning: we  begin  with  Pavia.  .  .  . 

"Every  male  of  Pavia,  of  proper  age  and  fully 
membered,  following  my  banner,  we  lay  siege  to 
Milan.  The  sooner  the  better;  for  that  old  dog-fox 
Sforza  is  warring  in  Umbria,  and  I  could  not  cope 
with  Sforza  until  I  have  all  my  Pavians  matched  and 
in  full  bearing — say,  for  twelve  years  at  the  least. 
Nay,  Brazenhead,  nay,  Testadirame,  my  ancient, 
strike  thy  metal  while  'tis  hot.  .  .  . 

"Milan  falls — Milan  falls!  And  there's  the  thigh 
of  Italy  under  my  thigh! 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  51 

*'Now  Rome,  the  city  old,  lies  about  the  knee  of 
Italy — is,  as  you  may  say,  the  knee-cap;  and  Venice 
is  the  hamstring.  Let  me  work  it  out,  let  me 
work  it  out.  You  cut  the  hamstring,  and  the  knee 
gives,  and  the  leg  drops.  Venice  gives  me  Rome; 
Naples  is  the  toe.  Cut  the  hamstring;  the  knee  is 
nerveless;  then  gangrene  assails  the  toe,  and  it  fritters 
and  falls  off.  But  with  Milan  to  add  to  Pavia,  who 
is  to  keep  me  from  Venice?  Pooh!  I  lead  a  host. 
To-morrow,  therefore,  to  the  shock  of  Pavia!" 

He  swept  the  mist  of  glory  from  his  eyes;  he  lifted 
his  head  and  bellowed  for  his  men — those  dread 
apparitors  who  hover  in  Milan,  who  sit  about  the 
jails  like  vultures  patient  on  their  trees  about  a  battle- 
field, awaiting  the  summons  to  their  obscene  task. 

One  by  one  the  crimson  heaps  were  lifted  out  of 
the  Well  of  Santa  Chiara;  lastly  Captain  Brazenhead 
himself  set  his  foot  into  the  grappling-hook  and  swung 
aloft.  The  tumbril-cart  was  loaded  with  its  sodden 
load;  the  Executioner  sat  down  upon  the  pile  and 
ordered  the  disposal  of  his  dead.  In  a  disused  her- 
mitage in  the  burial-ground  of  Sant'  Eustorgio,  he 
chose  to  hide  his  three  recruits,  and  to  add  to  them 
Tranche-coupe,  the  stout  Burgundian.  Means  were 
found  to  victual  the  garrison,  which,  sworn  to  secrecy 
and  commended  to  the  gods  of  war  and  good  luck, 
their  leader  then  left — going,  as  his  duty  was,  to  make 
his  report  to  the  Duke. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HOW   AND   WHERE    CAPTAIN   BRAZENHEAD,    FALLING 
INTO    DISGRACE,    READ    HIS    "dE    REMEDIO" 

** Tyrant  of  Milan" — thus  ran  his  Third  Murder- 
er's report — "one  wretch  I  seized  by  the  ankles,  as 
if  he  had  been  a  three-legged  stool,  and  whirling  him 
over  my  head  a  few  times,  with  him  attacked  those 
other  two.  As  a  flail  I  brought  him  thwacking  down; 
as  wheat  from  the  chaff  on  the  floor  fled  brain  from 
husk.  The  time  was  not  long  before  they  lay  before 
me  like  the  must  of  trodden  grapes;  while  as  for  him 
I  wielded,  he  was  as  whip-thongs  in  my  hand — 
strips  of  hide  wherewith  to  trounce  a  truant,  but  no 
weapon  for  a  man.  Anon  came  my  varlets  to  sweep 
up  with  a  besom,  and  now  your  well  of  Santa  Chiara 
is  so  sweet  you  could  stable  there  your  store  pig." 

Visconti,  burning  and  shivering  by  turns  in  his 
fever,  hugged  his  furs  about  him  and  spread  out  his 
thin  hands  to  the  sun.  He  may  have  listened,  but 
he  did  not  heed;  he  may  have  been  gratified,  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  be.  Captain  Brazenhead's  inven- 
tion, for  lack  of  nourishment,  wilted  and  faltered  out. 
His  eloquence,  for  that  turn,  was  not  ready  at  call — 
or  it  may  be  that  his  patron  had  heard  it  all  before. 
When  the  best  is  said,  the  variations  you  can  play 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  53 

upon  the  death  of  a  man  are  very  few,  at  least  in 
Europe.  They  say  that  the  Chinese  have  contrived 
better,  or  perhaps  they  have  greater  vitaHty  to  work 
upon.  However  that  may  be.  Captain  Brazenhead 
stopped — and  there  followed  a  painful  pause. 

Presently  Visconti  croaked  out  his  doom.  "You 
have  done  very  ill  on  your  own  showing.  To  dis- 
pose of  three  men  by  knocking  their  heads  together 
— ^what  is  this  but  insensate  butchery?  Get  you  to 
the  knacker's,  hire  yourself  out  in  the  shambles,  but 
serve  me  no  more.  Yet  stay,"  he  added,  seeing  that 
Brazenhead  was  preparing  to  obey  him  with  suspi- 
cious alacrity,  "I  may  have  use  for  you  yet.  You  are 
confined  to  quarters  until  my  next  orders,  and  you 
are  disarmed." 

Then  and  there  the  halberdiers  deprived  him  of 
his  weapons ;  he  was  led  to  the  door  and  turned  loose 
into  the  corridors  of  the  castle,  a  disgraced  man.  I 
must  observe  upon  this  that  it  is  not  given  to  the  most 
generous  to  foresee  the  full  scope  of  their  magnanim- 
ity; or  it  may  well  be  that  our  Brazenhead's  circle 
of  acquaintance  was  too  wide  or  his  instincts  too 
warm  to  make  him  a  tolerable  murderer.  For  if 
every  murderer  were  to  fight  with  the  man  he  pro- 
posed to  slay,  the  work  would  never  be  done;  and 
if  you  are  to  add  to  a  zest  for  combat  a  tenderness 
toward  the  nephews  of  ladies  with  whom  you  may 
have  conversed,  or  are  inclined  to  spare  them  who 
may  have  bested  you  as  well  as  those  whom  you 
have  bested,  you  narrow  the  field  of  your  operations 
too  severely.    It  is  likely  you  will  murder  none. 


54  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

Add  the  difficulty  of  explaining  how  you  have  slain 
persons  who  are  alive  at  the  moment  of  explanation, 
and  you  put  a  tax  upon  your  invention  which  may 
easily  make  you  bankrupt. 

It  was  vexatious  in  every  way — humiliating  to  his 
finer  feelings  and  embarrassing  to  his  political 
schemes.  He  had  his  garrison  in  Sant'  Eustorgio  to 
provide  for;  he  had  fixed  the  day  for  the  shock  of 
Pavia ;  and  here  he  was,  deprived  of  arms  and  con- 
fined to  the  precincts  of  the  court,  while  his  friends 
starved  in  a  disused  hermitage  and  Pavia  remained 
inviolate.  This  was  trouble  enough,  but  the  hurt 
to  his  pride,  his  professional  pride,  was  worse.  To 
Camus  and  Gelsomino,  his  colleagues,  was  allotted 
the  notable  adventure  of  putting  three  hundred  Ana- 
baptists to  the  sword.  Not  only  so,  but  on  the  day 
fixed  the  Duke  himself  would  attend  the  shambles  in 
state.  Milan  would  hold  high  festival;  and  so  it 
did.  Fortified  by  proof  armour  and  a  ring  with 
prussic  acid  in  the  jewel  of  it,  Duke  Galeazzo  set 
out.  His  duchess,  his  daughter,  his  great  officers, 
suitably  accompanied,  took  horse  in  the  great  court, 
and  rode  down  to  the  piazza.  Captain  Brazenhead 
saw  them  go  from  where  he  sat  in  an  obscure  comer 
of  the  buttery,  and  bit  his  nails  to  the  quick.  Occa- 
sionally he  sipped  a  mug  of  small  beer,  very  occasion- 
ally he  tried  to  carry  his  misfortune  with  grace  by 
hunmiing  an  air.  But  he  never  got  beyond  the  first 
bar.  He  had  been  thus  pitifully  engaged  for  more 
than  a  week,  and  was  very  glum. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  55 

A  thin  stream  of  persons  of  both  sexes  was  main- 
tained throughout  the  day,  to  and  from  the  buttery. 

Mendicant  friars  came  to  fill  their  sleeves  with 
broken  victuals,  widows  and  orphans,  half -pay 
soldiers,  murderers  out  of  work,  and  other  unfortu- 
nates, received  their  daily  sustenance  from  the  over- 
flowings of  the  kitchens.  But  for  them  the  Castle  had 
been  like  a  house  of  the  dead,  for  the  whole  Castle 
world  was  gone  to  see  the  slaying  of  the  Anabaptists. 
Captain  Brazenhead  watched  them  now  darkly  from 
his  comer,  chewing  a  bitter  cud  and  reading  a  soured 
judgment  upon  every  comer. 

Upon  a  rosy-gilled  Franciscan  he  mused:  *'Aye, 
thou  scratching  dog,  filch  the  substance  of  the  poor 
and  score  the  crime  against  thy  god  of  Assisi.  Him 
thou  professest  to  serve;  in  his  wounded  side  thou 
hopest  to  hide,  as  thou  sayest.  And  yet,  I  tell  thee, 
that  little  beggar-man  had  not  been  cold  two-and- 
fifty  weeks  before  thou  and  thy  likes  were  like  fed 
stallions.  Get  thee  hence,  thou  cheek  of  brawn, 
and  vex  not  the  sight  of  the  honest."  And  with 
some  such  scathing  words  he  was  ready  for  every 
religious  who  came  to  get  much  for  little. 

By  and  by  there  came  in  a  pretty  young  woman  in 
a  striped  petticoat,  leading  by  the  hand  a  short- 
smocked  child.  She  approached  the  buttery-hatch 
modestly,  and  not  perceiving  Captain  Brazenhead  in 
his  comer,  stumbled  against  him,  and  would  have 
fallen  had  she  not  sat  down  upon  his  knee.  The 
moment  she  perceived  her  error  she  begged  his 
pardon. 


56  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

Confusion  once  more  became  her;  she  was  tinged 
like  a  flower.  Captain  Brazenhead,  for  all  his  de- 
jection, knew  her  at  once. 

**Ah,  gentle  Liperata,"  said  he,  "you  may  well 
be  ashamed  of  the  seat  you  chose.  A  time  there  was 
when  these  war-wasted  knees  would  have  become 
you  better.  No  doubt  you  remember  how  we  jour- 
neyed together  the  way  of  Milan — and  with  what 
hopes,  odd's  face!  and  what  promise!  But  then 
Fortune  smiled  upon  me,  though  you  did  not." 

"Sir,"  said  the  young  woman,  "at  that  time  I 
should  never  have  sat  upon  your  knee,  for  then  I  was 
a  wife.    Now,  alas !" 

"How  now?"  cried  the  Captain.  "Has  thy 
husband  forsaken  so  lovely  a  partner?  Bring  me 
face  to  face  with  him,  and  I  will  embrace  him." 

The  lady  began  to  cry;  she  snatched  up  her  child 
and  clasped  it  to  her  bosom. 

"Behold  an  orphan!  Behold  the  widow  of  a 
murdered  man!"  she  wailed. 

Captain  Brazenhead  was  awake  and  vibrating  with 
fire. 

"Who  is  the  murdered  man?  Confront  me  with 
his  killer,  and  thou  shalt  have  two  murdered  men," 
he  cried.  "I  have  a  sword  not  yet  rusty,  and  by  this 
hand " 

He  had  forgotten  that  he  was  weaponless,  and  was 
to  have  good  reason  anon  to  remember  it. 

"Sir,"  said  Liperata,  "I  will  tell  you  my  tale  if  you 
will  be  pleased  to  hear  it.  I  was  but  yesterday  the 
wife  of  a  gentleman  of  position  and  talent,  who  had 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  57 

a  Court  appointment  which  brought  him  honour, 
respect,  and  a  handsome  emolument.  His  name 
was  Camus " 

*  *  Camus ! ' '  the  Captain  whispered  hoarsely.  *  *  Ca- 
mus! My  colleague!  Oh,  Fate,  thou  avenger  of 
wrong!    Proceed,  fair  widow,  I  conjure  thee." 

*'My  husband,"  said  Liperata,  "had  been  en- 
trusted with  a  responsible  task  which  he  must  fulfil 
this  very  day " 

**Aye,"  said  the  Captain,  "and  so  he  must.  Three 
hundred  Anabaptists  await  him.  But  now — ^what 
may  not  come  of  this?" 

"He  felt  the  burden  laid  upon  him  as  one  which 
called  for  all  his  powers  of  head,  heart,  and  sinew," 
she  continued,  "and  devoted  the  whole  of  yesterday 
to  the  exercise  of  these  parts  of  his.  He  spent  the 
forenoon  in  the  reading  of  theology;  Saint  Thomas 
Aquinas  equipped  him  here.  His  heart  was  in  my 
care.  I  think  I  may  say,  without  affectation,  that  I 
lavished  upon  it  all  the  arts  which  a  good  and  dutiful 
wife  has  at  her  command.  At  least,  he  praised  me, 
and  assured  me  that  I  had  not  worked  in  vain." 

"I  warrant  that  you  did  not,  lady,"  said  Captain 
Brazenhead  warmly,  and  she  thanked  him  with 
gentleness. 

"In  the  evening  of  that  unhappy  yesterday  my 
husband  set  out  for  the  exercise  of  his  muscular 
system.  With  our  child  upon  one  arm,  and  my  hand 
upon  the  other,  he  took  a  walk  about  the  streets  of 
the  city,  conversing  cheerfully  with  his  acquaintances, 
visiting  the  shrines  of  certain  saints  who  had  always 


58  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

been  propitious.  All  went  well  until  we  passed 
through  the  deserted  cemetery  of  Sant'  Eustorgio. 
But  in  that  unhallowed  spot " 

The  Captain's  eyes  seemed  starting  from  his  head. 

"Which  of  them  did  it  ?"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
like  the  sea-sound  in  a  shell.  **Not  Tranche-coupe? 
Not  Squarcialupo ?    Not  a  long-armed  man?" 

"A  dusky  youth,  lithe  as  a  snake,"  said  she, 
"sprang  upon  him  from  behind  a  grave,  and  crying: 
*  Here's  for  thee,  Braggart  of  England!'  stabbed  him 
in  the  neck.  He  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  fatal 
spot.  It  was  the  heel  of  my  dear  Achilles — my  noble, 
diligent  Achillas,  of  whom  I  am  the  poor  Briseis  of 
his  arms.  For  my  husband,  whose  profession  ex- 
posed him  to  constant  danger,  wore  chain-mail  upon 
his  person,  which  unhappily  ended  at  the  shoulders. 
Need  I  say  more  ?  He  sank,  bathed  in  his  own  bright 
blood,  and  as  I  wrung  my  hands  and  cried  upon 
my  Camus  by  name,  the  villain  slipped  among  the 
tombs  and  disappeared  into  the  city.  I  am  bereft 
of  his  love,  and  he,  by  failing  of  his  tryst  to-day,  has 
died  dishonoured.  If  my  tears  have  earned  your  pity, 
sir,  I  am  glad,  for  indeed  I  need  the  pity  of  the  humane. 
Now,  with  no  prospect  before  me  but  a  life  of  beggary 
and  want,  I  am  come  here  for  alms,  that  I  may 
school  myself  at  once  for  the  bitter  end  of  my  days." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  but  Captain 
Brazenhead  was  moved  to  the  very  centre  of  his  being. 

"But  not  so,  by  Cock's  wounds,  not  so,"  he  said, 
and  laid  a  well-chopped  finger  along  his  nose.  * '  What 
if  I  can  amend  your  griefs,  my  bird  of  the  bough  ? 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  59 

What  of  bearded  men,  old  in  warfare?  What  of 
the  ties  of  gratitude  ?  Bands  of  steel  ?  No  more — " 
And  here  he  clasped  the  melting  fair  to  his  breast, 
while  all  the  hangers  about  the  buttery  marvelled  and 
many  wept.  ''Come  you  with  me,  lady,  come  you 
out  along  with  me.  'Twas  to-morrow  for  Pavia, 
pity  is,  but  now  it  must  be  later.  Now  I  am  Persia 
and  thou  art  my  Andromedary.  Now  we  summon 
the  legionaries  for  chivalry,  and  off  we  go,  my  chuck !" 
With  no  more  words,  but  with  husbanded  breath 
and  an  arm  crooked  for  her  hand,  he  led  her  away 
to  the  cemetery  of  Sant'  Eustorgio. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOW  CAPTAIN  BEAZENHEAD  SLEW  THREE  HUNDRED 

ANABAPTISTS   WITH   THE  THIGH-BONE 

OF  A  PHILOSOPHER 

The  tombs  of  Sant'  Eustorgio  stood  or  leaned  at  all 
angles,  and  stared  like  the  bleached  and  derelict  bones 
of  a  host  long  dead.  Disconsolate  kites,  buzzards, 
ravens,  and  other  reprobate  birds  flapped  heavily 
above  or,  perching  on  cross  or  pinnacle,  voiced  after 
their  fashion  their  discontent  with  the  world  as  it  was. 
The  crazy  Hie  Jacets  of  the  tombs  coincided  with 
these  harsh-throated  heralds  of  despair,  and  set  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  to  stalk  briskly  about,  himself  like 
a  long-necked  bird  of  bad  omen,  if  haply  he  might 
discover  but  one  of  his  bond-slaves.  Clinging  to  his 
arm  was  the  now  terrified  Liperata,  upon  whose 
skirts  dragged  the  child  of  slain  Camus. 

*^I  pin  my  faith  to  the  Bilboan,"  said  Brazenhead, 
"for  he  alone  is  fitted  by  his  nature  to  inhabit  so 
beastly  a  spot.  His  arm  reaches  to  his  knee-cap; 
he  is,  you  may  say,  three-legged.  No  hyena  could 
be  more  at  home  in  a  graveyard  than  this  fellow,  who 
is,  moreover,  endeared  to  me  by  many  ties.  He  owes 
me  for  his  life,  I  owe  him  for  his  aunt.  Certainly  I 
pin  my  faith  to  him." 

60 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  6l 

And  he  was  justified.  Far  within  the  shade  of  an 
empty  vault  they  came  upon  a  crouched  figure.  His 
head  was  not  visible,  so  deeply  was  it  sunk  between 
his  knees.  But  by  his  arm — by  the  absence  of  one, 
and  the  presence  of  one — he  could  be  recognised  for 
the  Bilboan. 

**Ho,  Barbary,  awake!"  cried  Bra^enhead,  and 
stirred  him  with  a  thigh-bone  which  he  happened  to 
have  in  his  hand.  It  was  no  ordinary  thigh-bone, 
though  its  present  possessor  knew  nothing  of  that. 
Being  deprived  of  his  sword,  and  missing  the  use  of 
it,  he  had  picked  it  up  on  his  way  through  the  ceme- 
tery. It  had  belonged  to  the  philosopher  Gnatho  of 
Samothrace,  who  had  devoted  his  life  to  demonstrat- 
ing the  indestructibility  of  matter,  and  had  perished 
at  the  stake  in  the  great  days  of  Saint  Ambrose,  to 
whom  matter  was  so  little  that  he  considered  the 
punishment  a  light  one.  It  was  a  curious  circum- 
stance that  Captain  Brazenhead  was  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  Gnatho' s  vindication — if  indeed  those  modem 
disciples  of  the  sage  are  not  nearer  the  mark  when 
they  afiirm  that  he  himself  was  his  own  instrument, 
and  Captain  Brazenhead  the  unconscious  agent  of 
his  purpose. 

But  at  the  smart  touch  of  the  relic  the  Bilboan 
came  leaping  from  the  tomb  and  humbled  himself  at 
the  feet  of  his  lord.  His  uncouth  mops  and  mows 
touched  Captain  Brazenhead  in  a  quick  spot. 

"My  faithful  vassal,"  said  he  tenderly,  "how  is  it 
with  thee,  man?  Art  thou  alone  faithful  to  thy 
Brazenhead?    Is   gratitude,    then,    so   dear?    Are 


62  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

memories  so  short?  Where  is  Squarcialupo,  that 
prick-eared  Roman?" 

''Gone,  master,  gone,"  said  the  Bilboan.  "A 
gamester  came  this  way  and  did  beguile  him." 

The  Captain  was  shocked.  "How  now?  So 
sturdy  a  knave!" 

"He  promised  him  good  wages,"  said  the  other. 
"Five  sols  Toumois  per  diem.  I  cried  shame  upon 
him,  saying:  'Trust  to  our  lord's  honour';  but  he 
said  your  rate  had  been  but  three." 

"It  was  four!"  cried  the  Captain.  "I  pass  you 
my  word  it  was  four!'* 

The  Bilboan  shrugged  in  despair.  "Even  so,  said 
Squarcialupo,  five  was  above  your  figure;  and  he 
went  the  day  after  you  had  brought  him  here." 

Captain  Brazenhead  had  expected  as  much.  "He 
was  a  gallows  knave,  when  all's  said.  But  I  hoped 
better  things  of  Tranche-coupe.  Now  what  of  that 
Burgundian?" 

"There  came  a  funeral  to  this  place,"  said  the 
Bilboan,  "on  Saint  Milo's  day.  They  buried  a  cer- 
tain notary,  a  warm  man,  but  not  near  so  warm  as 
that  heathen  is,  whose  thigh-bone  your  Honour  now 
wears  at  your  side,  if  all  they  tell  me  of  his  teaching 
is  but  half  true.  Now,  to  commit  our  notary  to  earth 
came  a  widow  of  his  and  ten  children,  if  not  more. 
Quite  a  company!  Their  lamentable  cries  did  so 
move  Tranche-coupe  our  friend  that  he  brooded  upon 
them  day  and  night.  The  affair  got  into  his  mind 
and  wrought  upon  the  young  man's  brain;  so  pres- 
ently, moved  by  pity,  he  borrowed  a  suit  of  clothes 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  63 

from  the  gravedigger,  and  is  but  this  morning  gone  to 
pay  court  to  the  relict  of  the  notary.  If  he  succeed, 
as  I  think  he  will  from  what  he  tells  me,  he  will  be 
fourth  husband  to  a  lady  of  substance  and  merit. 
I  cannot  blame  him  neither;  for  a  widow,  d'ye  see, 
has  experience  in  the  comforting  of  mankind,  and 
that  counts  for  much  with  a  young  man  of  Tranche- 
coupe's  years.    No,  no,  I  cannot  blame  him." 

''Nor  I,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  constricting 
the  muscles  of  his  arm  and  looking  benignantly  down 
upon  Liperata.  ''No,  nor  I,  by  Cock.  But  I  am 
vexed,"  he  added,  "and  something  put  about — for  I 
had  reckoned  upon  his  cross-bow  arm  for  an  adven- 
ture of  Pavia  before  long.  There  shun  me  two  men 
by  whom  I  had  hoped  to  win  a  score.  Tush!  And 
the  Egyptian " 

"Master,"  said  the  Bilboan  darkly,  "come  we 
now  to  the  Egyptian,  against  whom  I  would  have 
warned  you  before  had  I  seen  you  here  or  known  how 
to  come  at  you.  That  dark-skinned  rogue,  that 
snake-tongue,  who  got  the  better  of  your  Honour 
once  in  a  horse-deal,  has  now  done  you  the  scurviest 
turn  of  all.  For  not  content  with  the  slaughter  of 
Signior  Camus,  your  colleague,  he  has  dressed  him- 
self out  in  his  livery,  and  with  the  murdered  man's 
visor  to  cover  his  own  false  face,  is  engaged  at  this 
hour  in  slaughtering  three  hundred  Anabaptists  in  the 
presence  of  the  Duke's  grace  of  Milan,  and  his  con- 
sort, and  his  daughter,  and  all  his  court." 

At  this  intelligence  Captain  Brazenhead  smote 
himself  upon  his  forehead  and  said  "It  was  very 


64  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

well."  Those  who  knew  him  would  have  read  the 
oracle  for  a  bad  sign,  because  he  really  meant  it. 
Its  deep-mouthed  tones  rang  the  passing-bell  for  the 
Egyptian. 

"Come,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead  sternly  to  the 
Bilboan.  **I  shall  need  thee.  Come."  So  saying, 
he  led  the  way  back  to  the  Castle  of  Milan. 

Walking  through  a  desert  city  into  a  desert  strong- 
hold, it  came  upon  him  as  a  providence  of  super- 
natural powers  that  all  lay  so  snug — "at  the  mercy 
of  any  man  of  his  hands."  A  sombre  cheer  illumined 
his  burnt  face;  he  put  his  arm  round  the  waist  of 
Liperata  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  With  the 
other  arm  free,  he  flourished  the  thigh-bone  of  Gnatho 
the  Philosopher.  "All  may  yet  be  done;  all  may 
fall  out  still  for  the  best.  By  the  Sacred  Places  of 
Jerusalem,  I  see  my  way!    Forward!" 

It  was  very  much  the  hero,  it  was  de  son  naturel,  to 
overlook  the  exiguity  of  his  little  force.  True,  the 
great  Sforza  was  far  away.  That  right  hand  of 
Milan,  with  the  flower  of  the  Lombard  host,  was 
warring  in  Umbria,  it  was  believed,  engaged  just  now 
in  the  leaguer  of  Perugia.  Even  so,  it  needs  a  mind 
cast  in  a  paladin's  mould  to  compass  the  sack  of 
Milan  with  a  one-armed  man,  a  young  widow,  and  an 
unbreeched  boy  for  attacking  party.  But  Captain 
Brazenhead  would  never  perish  of  dry-rot  in  the 
brain.  If  great  schemes,  great  enthusiasms  had  been 
all,  he  might  have  realised  that  grandiose  conception 
of  Castruccio's,  who,  having  Lucca  under  his  hand, 
saw  his  way  to  the  tyranny  of  all  Italy. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  65 

More  sanguine  than  Castruccio  himself,  the  swell- 
ing thought  held  him  in  thrall  as  he  led  his  band  into 
the  Hall  of  Audience,  which  was  in  the  shape  of  a 
basilica  of  three  aisles.  These  aisles  were  marked 
by  columns  of  the  Doric  order,  gray  and  serried. 
In  the  apse  of  the  noble  chamber,  upon  its  degrees, 
stood  the  Throne  of  Milan — empty.  To  stride  for- 
ward, mount  the  steps,  seat  himself  in  that  chair  of 
State,  place  Liperata  upon  his  left  hand,  made  but 
short  work  for  a  man  whose  brain  was  on  fire.  He 
bade  the  child  group  himself  by  a  column;  and  then, 
in  the  clear  voice  of  a  man  who  has  a  vision,  com- 
manded the  Bilboan  to  proclaim  him  Duke  of  Milan. 
We  may  call  that  burning  your  ships — or  we  may  call 
it  high  treason — or  both.  The  question  is,  had  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead,  or  had  he  not,  the  quick  sprite 
Destiny  by  the  tail?  Now,  Captain  Brazenhead 
thought  that  he  had. 

''Salomon,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Duke  of  Milan, 
Marquess  of  Pavia,  Lord  of  Monza,  Como,  Bergamo, 
and  Brescia,  Tyrant  of  Verona,  Piacenza  and  the 
Borrommean  Isles"  was  called  by  the  herald  and  ac- 
claimed by  the  populace — that  is  the  orphan  child; 
and  a  reign,  the  shortest  but  most  eventful  in  the 
annals  of  the  Lombard  State,  was  peacefully  ushered 
in.  Not  trumpets  pealed  its  opening,  nor  the  clash 
of  lifted  swords,  nor  pikes  tossing  like  reeds  in  a 
wind.  The  piping  of  an  unbreeched  child  for  his 
mother  was  all  the  acclamation,  and  the  fevered  agi- 
tation of  his  legs,  as  he  pattered  up  and  down  the 
pavement,  all  the  commotion  of  a  scene  which  needed 


66  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

perhaps  but  a  little  more  bustle  to  have  been  memo- 
rable by  Corio  and  the  other  court  historians  of  the 
houses  of  Visconti  and  Sforza,  who,  as  things  were, 
and  for  reasons  of  their  own,  passed  it  over. 

I  have  no  such  reasons,  and  am  proud  to  be  the 
humble  means  of  restoring  a  stirring  page  to  the  vol- 
ume of  Lombard  story.  It  would  be  my  wish  to  en- 
large upon  the  events  of  the  twenty-five  minutes  fol- 
lowing the  proclamation  (and  its  reception  by  the 
populace)  which  I  have  just  related,  and  I  am  sure  it 
would  be  the  reader's;  but  materials  are  wanting. 
Ccetera  desunt,  as  the  chroniclers  say.  I  beUeve  that 
a  Civil  List  was  established,  provision  made  for 
the  Duchess-elect  Liperata,  and  the  tax  on  beer, 
spruce,  cider,  perry,  wine,  mead,  and  all  fermented 
liquors,  abolished.  The  marriage-laws  were  stand- 
ardised, I  gather:  but  for  such  high  matters  space 
fails  me. 

Now,  the  issuing  of  these  important  and  far-reach- 
ing reforms  took  up  the  better  part  of  five-and-twenty 
minutes;  and  immediately  after,  just  as  the  new 
Duke,  feeling  the  vein  leap  within  him,  was  about 
to  deliver  an  apologue  upon  Equity,  a  confused 
murmuring  afar  off,  the  noise  of  a  great  tumult 
without  the  house,  made  itself  heard.  It  was  for  all 
the  world  like  the  sound  of  a  mighty  flood,  gathered 
in  the  mountains,  and  sweeping  its  way  irresistible 
over  the  plain.  All  heard  it,  some  shook;  the  Duke 
paused  in  the  act  to  speak.  His  mouth  was  open, 
his  eyes  were  fixed;  but  no  rhapsody  came  forth. 
Quite  otherwise. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  67 

"Did  I  name  Equity?"  he  said,  "Here  cometh 
our  other  h'ttle  affair.  Equity's  bane  this  will  be — a 
more  ancient  practice.  Haste  thee,  Bilboan,  and 
draw  thy  blade."  This  was  all  very  well;  but  the 
Bilboan,  no  better  than  his  master,  had  no  blade. 

Duke  Brazenhead  saw  his  penury  and  was  not  long 
amending  it.  With  his  trusty  bone  in  hand  he  attacked 
the  throne  where  his  duchess  yet  sat,  and  was  not 
long  in  knocking  off  a  fluted  column  of  marble  and 
mosaic,  of  the  kind  known  as  opus  alexandrinum. 
It  was  of  the  length  of  a  man's  forearm,  as  sharp  at 
the  angles  as  if  it  had  just  left  the  mason's  yard. 
"Arm  thee,  friend,"  he  said,  "with  this  emblem 
until  thou  hast  a  better  for  thy  prowess."  Descend- 
ing then  into  the  hall,  he  caught  up  the  child,  and 
returned  and  set  him  upon  his  mother's  knee.  "Stay 
you  there,  mother  and  son,"  he  bade  them.  "I 
fight  for  hearth  and  home  this  day.'*  Accompanied 
by  the  Bilboan,  he  took  the  middle  aisle  of  the  basilica 
and  stood  there,  a  superb  figure  of  a  man,  masked, 
hairy,  bristling,  his  scarlet  cloak  thrown  over  his  left 
arm,  and  in  his  restless  right  hand  the  avenging  limb 
of  Gnatho  of  Samothrace.  The  Bilboan,  true  to  his 
nature,  crouched,  peering  forward.  He  bent  himself 
at  the  knees,  as  an  athlete  does  at  the  starting-point 
— ^but  so  far  that  he  could  easily  scratch  his  ankle 
with  his  forefinger;  and  he  did  so  more  than  once. 

The  uproar  in  their  hearing,  who  waited,  neared, 
swelled,  and  became  a  din — ^a  riot  of  broken  clamour. 
You  could  hear  now  and  again  the  name  of  the  late 
Duke  thrown  up :  "  Visconti !    Visconti ! ' '  you  heard ; 


68  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

but  that  cry  was  drowned  in  outland  curses,  and 
names  unknown  to  Italy  held  the  air.  Sooner  than 
was  convenient,  the  noise  of  countless  running  feet 
blotted  out  all  others.  It  became  evident  that  a  host 
was  at  hand. 

"It  is  the  Anabaptists,"  said  the  Bilboan,  scratch- 
ing his  foot. 

''Aye,"  said  his  master.  " They  drive  back  Milan. 
Now  we  have  it  in  the  nose.    Be  thou  ready." 

The  doors  were  pushed  open  wide;  a  few  scared 
servants,  varlets  and  maids  of  the  pantry  and  kitchen, 
came  first — old  tirewomen,  old  bedeswomen,  a  priest, 
and  a  limping  page  whose  ankle  was  bound  up — 
running  helter-skelter  for  protection.  Regardless,  in 
their  terror,  of  the  stem  figures  in  mid-hall,  they 
pelted  by  them,  and  gaining  the  dais,  crouched  at 
the  knees  of  the  mother  and  child  on  the  throne. 
There  was  no  marvel  in  their  mistake.  They  saw  a 
miracle — and  felt  it,  when  Monna  Liperata,  heavenly 
mildness  beaming  from  her  eyes,  put  out  her  hand 
and  laid  it  upon  the  head  of  the  nearest.  The  heart 
of  Duke  Brazenhead  leaped  in  his  body,  and  warm 
tears  flooded  his  eyes  as  he  witnessed  this  fair  sight. 
*'As  God  liveth,  I  have  that  for  which  to  fight  this 
day." 

Close  upon  these  stragglers,  however,  came  the 
halberdiers  of  the  Visconti,  a  mere  handful  of  striped 
men  backing  into  the  hall,  disputing  the  passage 
with  them  who  pursued.  In  their  midst,  white  and 
slavering  at  the  lips,  tottered  he  who  but  that  morn- 
ing had  been  Lord  and  Tyrant  of  Milan ;  beside  him 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  69 

his  duchess  walked,  a  goddess,  though  she  was  too 
portly  to  be  fair;  and  with  her  came  Bianca,  her  only 
daughter,  matre  pulchrafilia  pulchrior.  Royally  these 
two  advanced  up  the  hall;  and  behind  them,  blocking 
up  the  great  entry,  was  a  thicket  of  pikes,  staves, 
scythes,  and  bills,  the  snatched-up  weapons  of  the 
wholly  frantic  and  partially  naked  persons  of  the 
Anabaptists.  The  battling  of  this  shaggy  host  at  the 
doors,  where  without  order  or  judgment  all  tried  to 
enter  at  once,  gave  a  moment's  respite  to  the  pursuers. 

Captain  Brazenhead — to  call  him  still  by  his  famil- 
iar name — had  pity  upon  the  fallen,  deposed  and  ab- 
ject prince,  and  more  than  pity — high  admiration,  in- 
deed— for  the  persons  of  the  two  noble  ladies  of  his 
household.  ''Open  ranks!"  he  bade  the  Bilboan; 
"open  ranks,  messmate,  and  let  in  this  jerking  wretch. 
He  was  a  king  this  morning,"  he  added  pitifully,  "and 
shall  sleep  in  a  bed  for  aught  I  care."  The  Bilboan 
dutifully  stood  aside,  and  the  hunchback,  blind  with 
panic,  crawled  on  all  fours  up  the  degrees  of  his 
ancient  throne,  and  seeing  there  a  fair  woman  seated 
with  a  golden-headed  child  on  her  lap,  stumbled 
forward  with  a  cry  to  her  feet,  clutched  at  her  knees, 
and  buried  his  face  in  her  striped  petticoat.  There, 
throughout  the  carnage  to  ensue,  he  stayed. 

But  Captain  Brazenhead  bowed  courtly  to  the 
duchess  and  her  daughter.  "  Ladies,"  he  said, 
"suffer  a  soldier,  and  trust  in  the  clemency  of  a  prince. 
By  your  leave,  noble  ladies,  by  your  leave."  So  said, 
he  turned  to  face  the  throne  with  them,  and  taking  a 
hand  of  each,  escorted  them  with  high-stepping  gal- 


70  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

lantry  up  the  steps  of  it.  "Be  seated,  ladies,  beside 
my  family,  and  be  sure  that  for  you,  no  less  than  for 
them,  I  shall  play  the  man  this  day."  The  ladies, 
who  may  be  pardoned  for  not  knowing,  nor  caring, 
what  all  this  might  be  about,  sat  beside  Liperata  on 
the  throne,  and  saw  Captain  Brazenhead  swoop  into 
the  fray,  like  a  sea-eagle  into  a  school  of  mackerel  in 
a  shallow.  He  had  poised  on  the  edge  of  the  dais  but 
for  a  minute.  That  had  sufficed  him  to  see  how  mat- 
ters stood.  Visconti's  guards  were  ranged  before 
him ;  the  Bilboan  still  crouched  in  mid-hall.  Opposite 
to  him  raged  and  bayed  the  furious  host.  With  a 
voice  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet  he  had  signalled  for 
the  contest.  *' Salt  and  water  en  avantP^  he  had  cried. 
**The  Anabaptists  are  at  ye,  ye  hounds!  Rally  for 
the  Faith!"  That  bone  which  erstwhile  had  stood 
up  stiffly  for  the  indestructibility  of  matter  whistled 
above  his  head.  **You  that  love  order  and  good 
baptism,  follow  me."  The  Guard  rallied  and  formed 
a  wedge.  Led  by  such  a  prince,  they  clove  the 
Anabaptists'  ranks,  and  men  dropped  like  cornstalks 
heavy  in  the  ear  to  left  and  right. 

Such  battle  he  had  never  yet  dreamed  of — even  he, 
to  whom  long  odds  were  as  a  draught  of  wine — as  this, 
wherein  he,  the  Bilboan,  and  ten  of  Visconti's  body- 
guard faced  three  hundred  fanatics  stung  by  terror 
into  frenzy.  Hot-eyed,  half-naked,  giant  men  they 
were — Bulgarians,  Croats,  and  Serbs — red  in  the 
beard  and  flat  in  the  bone,  hairy-chested,  crying  un- 
couth shibboleths  of  their  own,  outraged  in  every 
sense,  and  bent  upon  outrage.    They  howled,  wept, 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  71 

gnashed  their  teeth;  they  thrust  and  smote,  clubbed 
at  their  oppressors;  but  to  httle  purpose.  Cut  into 
halves  by  the  wedge  of  the  Lombards,  hampered  by 
the  pillars  of  the  hall,  they  impeded  each  other.  In 
sheaves  they  fell,  or  backing  in  panic  at  each  onrush 
of  the  foe  they  trampled  and  tumbled  over  one  upon 
the  other.  Like  the  uneasy  gleams  of  the  sun  upon 
broken  water,  here  and  there  glided  a  red  figure  urging 
them  to  efifort. 

Where,  then,  was  the  Egyptian,  if  not  there? 
Whose  was  that  evil- whispering  spirit,  if  not  his? 
Captain  Brazenhead,  roaring  in  the  press  as  he 
mowed,  cried  upon  him:  "Come  out,  thou  horse- 
coper,  thou  black  thief  of  Lutterworth!  Come  out 
and  meet  me."  But  there  was  no  response,  save 
some  glancing  of  the  red  figure,  and  no  means  of 
gej:ting  at  that  save  through  the  massed  Anabaptists 
about  the  door.  But  that  caitiff's  hours  were  num- 
bered, and  his  tale  is  nearly  told.  Marked  down  at 
last  by  his  incensed  adversary,  where  he  stood  egging 
on  his  dupes  to  their  hopeless  task,  he  was  from  that 
moment  a  doomed  man.  For  Captain  Brazenhead, 
seizing  a  dead  Anabaptist  by  neck  and  ankles,  lifted 
him  up  on  high  and  hurled  him  with  all  his  force  at 
the  Egyptian.  The  two  heads,  that  of  the  dead 
and  that  of  the  living,  met  in  horrid  shock.  That 
of  the  Anabaptist  stood  the  strain,  but  the  Egyptian's 
was  split  open,  as  when  a  man  with  his  finger  and 
fist  smashes  a  walnut.  The  rogue  went  down,  and 
was  trampled  out  of  recognition  by  the  feet  of  his 
flying  friends. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HOW,  AND  FOR  WHAT  EXQUISITE  REASONS,  CAPTAIN 
BRAZENHEAD  ABDICATED  THE  THRONE  OF  MILAN 

Folding  his  ragged  doublet  about  his  bleeding 
breast,  Captain  Brazenhead  turned  his  face  toward 
the  dais,  where  Liperata  sat  chaste  and  still,  like  some 
fair-haired  Madonna  of  the  North.  Not  upon  her 
only  must  he  look,  but  he  must  frown  upon  the  hud- 
dled figure  of  Duke  Visconti,  and  consider  what  was 
to  be  done  with  him  and  his.  Great  and  weighty 
thoughts  contended  within  him  as  he  stood,  deep- 
breathing  and  deep-pondering,  there.  At  his  feet, 
very  contentedly,  sat  the  Bilboan,  dabbing  his  wounds 
with  a  rag.  Such  of  Visconti's  body-guard  as  re- 
mained alive  waited  upon  his  words. 

He  was  master;  he  ruled  in  Milan.  At  a  word 
from  him  the  writhen  little  tyrant  would  be  extin- 
guished, and  that  which  he  had  greatly  dreamed 
would  come  to  pass.  Power  of  life  and  limb  over  men, 
cities,  armies,  was  at  his  word ;  more  than  all  these, 
as  hinting  at  these  and  more,  the  waiting  eyes  of 
citizens,  the  waiting  steps  of  legions,  the  held  breath 
of  neighbouring  states  stood  attendant  upon  his 
motions.  To  a  man  of  great  ideas  and  imagination 
winged,  the  temptation  to  say  that  one  word.  Death, 
was  not,   you  would  say,  to   have  been  resisted. 

72 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  73 

Death  to  Visconti!  and  all  Lombardy  fell  crumbling 
at  his  feet. 

And  yet  not  only  did  he  not  say  it,  but  he  knew  that 
he  could  not.  And  why?  Because  he  was  so  made 
that  he  could  not  take  life  in  cold  blood.  That  was 
one  reason.  This  pitiful,  blood-gluttonous,  writhen 
man — ^whom  to  kill  were  to  honour  above  his  deserts 
— must  then  go  free.  He  might  be  chained,  caged, 
hidden  away  within  walls;  but  he  could  not  be  slain, 
because  Brazenhead,  with  everything  to  gain,  could 
not  be  angry  with  him.  He  could  deplore  him,  de- 
spise him,  spum,  spit  upon  him,  but  treat  him  as  hate- 
worthy  he  could  not  for  all  Milan  and  its  subject 
cities. 

Assume  Visconti  chained  and  put  away,  what  was 
to  hinder  him  then  ?  *'By  my  soul,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "when  I  am  Duke  of  Milan,  I  must  wive;  for  I 
must  get  me  a  dynasty,  d'ye  see?"  He  eyed  Vis- 
conti's  tall  daughter  as  he  spoke,  and  could  not  deny 
her  merits.  "Thou  and  I,  fair  dame!  O  propitious 
Lucina!"  And  then  he  looked  at  Liperata,  where 
she  chastely  sat,  a  mild  young  goddess.  By  her  side 
Bianca  Visconti  showed  the  termagant,  revealed  the 
shrew;  yes,  but  in  every  feature,  in  every  mould,  in 
carriage,  gesture,  and  regard,  there  shone  a  duchess, 
the  mother  of  dukes  to  come. 

At  this  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  Milan,  Bianca,  Lipe- 
rata, and  the  subduer  of  them  all — ^the  Bilboan 
limped  up  to  his  master,  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve, 
and,  as  the  hero  stooped  to  him,  whispered  hoarsely 
in  his  ear.    The  hushed  auditory  could  make  little  of 


74  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

the  message,  which  was  in  the  Spanish  tongue;  but 
at  one  word,  out  of  many,  two  persons  started.  These 
were  Bianca  Visconti  and  he  who  proposed  to  raise 
her  to  a  throne.  At  that  one  word  their  looks  en- 
countered.   Some  say  the  word  was  Sforza. 

Captain  Brazenhead,  at  any  rate,  paused;  for  once 
in  his  life  he  showed  timidity.  "She  is  nothing  to 
me  beside  that  mouse  on  the  throne.  A  man  must 
be  snug,  d'ye  see?  Give  me  my  comforts,  and  I'll 
cry  you  quittance  of  your  strapping  ladies.  See  me 
at  my  ease,  having  well  supped,  slippers  on  my  feet, 
plying  the  toothpick;  what  do  I  need  then,  ha? 
Why,  a  dove-eyed,  ministering,  kiss-me-quick  lass  to 
sit  on  my  knee  and  work  the  whisk  to  keep  the  flies 
away,  what  time  I  sleep  off  my  drink.  'Tis  so,  by 
Cock ;  for  men  are  so  made  that  they  carry  a  maid's 
heart  by  storm  and  waste  the  world  until  they  have  it ; 
and  after  that  they  look  to  have  done  with  the  matter. 
All  must  be  solace  afterwards;  and  the  woman  wooed 
before  wedlock  must  thereafter  woo  until  the  end  of 
days.  Men  are  so  made,  there's  no  denying,  and  I 
more  than  most. 

*'But  Madam  Bianca  there — lo,  you!  where  is  my 
ease?  Where  would  she  hide  my  slippers?  Would 
she  flick  away  flies?  Not  so;  but  'My  lord,  I  pray 
you  fan  my  face  against  this  heat.'  *My  lord,  I 
would  have  you  sing  me  lullaby.'  'Carry  you  the 
child,  my  lord,  while  my  women  tie  my  hair.'  *  Get 
up,  my  lord,  get  up,  and  snuff  the  candle;  I  vow  'tis 
your  turn.'  Why,  a  pest  upon  it,  how  should  a  man 
find  force  to  lead  armies  afield,  or  preside  in  council- 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  75 

chambers,  or  beard  the  envoys  of  foreign  princes,  if 
his  rest  is  to  be  broken,  his  pride  humbled,  his  cour- 
age frittered  off  him  like  cheese  off  a  grater?  Yet 
thus,  and  not  otherwise,  must  that  man  suffer  who  has 
Madame  Bianca  to  wife.  Yet  it  comports  not  with 
my  honour  to  lead  any  less  a  lady  to  the  throne  of 
Milan.  Zounds,  but  I'll  none  of  your  thrones,  then, 
at  such  a  price.  And  yet  withal — and  yet — oho, 
Madame  Bianca,  I  see  thee  the  mother  of  the  dukes 
my  sons! 

"A  proof,  a  proof!"  he  cried.  **I'll  put  all  to  the 
proof.  Mark  you  me,  Bilboan,  how  I  go  a-wooing 
in  my  own  fashion."  Followed  by  the  eyes  of  his 
crouching  ally,  still  busy  with  his  sores,  he  trod  im- 
petuously forward  to  the  dais. 

There  from  below  he  accosted  Bianca  Visconti, 
daughter  of  dukes. 

"Lady,  I  arfi  Master  of  Milan,  and  like  you  well 
enough.  Come  now,  shall  we  make  a  match  of  it? 
Will  you  be  a  soldier's  wife?" 

The  lady's  eyes  shone  steely  blue.  The  lady's 
cheeks  flushed  high. 

"Yes,  sir.    That  is  my  fixed  intention,"  she  said. 

Captain  Brazenhead  set  his  right  foot  upon  the 
second  degree  of  the  dais. 

"Well  and  good,  then,  mistress,"  said  he.  "Gird 
me  on  that  forepiece  with  your  belt.  It  was  torn  in 
the  fray,  and  you  would  not  have  your  husband  go 
barefoot." 

Madame  Bianca  recoiled  as  if  a  hornet  had  stung 
her. 


76  THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN 

"Hound!"  said  she,  "do  you  dare?" 

But  Liperata  slipped  from  the  throne  and  ran  and 
knelt  by  the  great  foot.  She  took  her  kerchief  from 
her  fair  hair  and  bound  the  torn  forepiece  closely  to 
the  instep  with  that.  Captain  Brazenhead  stooped 
and  lifted  her  in  his  arms.  High  in  the  air  she  swung, 
like  a  feather  caught  in  a  tree. 

"Behold,  behold  the  wife  of  a  soldier!"  cried  her 
taker.  Mounting  then  the  throne,  he  stirred  the 
Duke  with  his  bound  foot. 

"Ho,  there,  Milan,"  he  said,  "take  heart,  if  thou 
canst  find  it.  Thy  foes  are  all  dead  or  fled,  and  as 
for  thy  throne,  I  renounce  it  with  a  flick  of  the  fin- 
ger, as  I  assumed  it  with  the  same.  Fortune  send 
thy  state  bolder  tyrants  than  thee.  As  for  you,  mis- 
tress," and  he  turned  his  face  to  Madame  Bianca, 
"if  you  will  be  a  soldier's  wife,  disdain  not  to  serve 
him  who  bleeds.  For  I  care  not  who  the  man  may 
be,  with  him  it  will  never  be  ^  Leave  to  love  thee  is  my 
hire.''  So,  fare  you  heartily  well,  mistress,  and  the 
soldier,  your  husband.    As  for  me,  I  am  suited  here." 

So  said,  he  handed  Liperata  from  the  dais,  and  put 
the  child  upon  his  shoulder.  Whistling  to  the  Bil- 
boan,  he  strode  leisurely  down  the  hall  over  the 
writhen  bodies  of  the  dead  and  dying,  and  was  seen 
no  more  in  Milan  for  that  time. 

Curiously  enough,  Sforza  entered  the  city  next  day 
at  the  head  of  his  victorious  army,  and  shortly  after- 
ward married  Visconti's  daughter.  His  regrets  at 
not  meeting  Captain  Brazenhead  must  have  been 
many  and  bitter.    What  were  Captain  Brazenhead's 


THE  DUKE  OF  MILAN  77 

feelings  we  have  no  means  of  knowing ;  but  I  under- 
stand that  he  heard  of  the  entry  from  a  lodging  he  had 
in  Cremona  where,  under  the  name  of  Damoetas,  a 
shepherd,  he  was  then  dwelling  with  the  fair  Liperata. 
From  these  subsequent  events,  I  assume,  the  curious 
legend  must  have  arisen  that  among  the  many  Span- 
ish words  whispered  in  his  ear  by  the  Bilboan,  while 
all  Milan  lay  humble  at  his  feet,  was  the  Italian  word 
Sforza. 


BOOK  II 
THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 


BOOK  II 
THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  STAG  AT  BORDEAUX 

In  the  month  of  May,  the  singing  month,  and  year 
1428,  Captain  Brazenhead,  ''late  of  Burgundy,  for- 
merly of  Milan,"  or,  as  he  chose  to  describe  himself 
just  then,  Captain  Salomon,  Franc  Routier,  having 
seen  to  the  bringing  up  of  the  pink  Bonne  Esperance 
to  a  buoy  in  the  swirling  river  Gironde,  having  sworn 
in  three  languages  at  the  master  and  his  mariners, 
who  knew  but  two  apiece,  and  having  forced  the  tears 
into  his  eyes  more  than  once  by  the  violent  twist  he 
had  given  his  moustachios,  said  finally,  "It  is  well," 
and  had  himself  pulled  ashore  into  the  King  of  Eng- 
land's good  town  of  Bordeaux.  The  hour  was  early, 
marking  tha  silver  pause  of  time  ere  the  sun  first 
kindles  vane  and  turret,  and  scandal  can  once  more 
be  talked  by  the  classically  inclined  of  Aurora  and 
old  Tithonus.  Save  for  a  few  tousled  and  sprawling 
malefactors,  a  stevedore  or  two,  a  musing  sailor,  a 
sentry,  and  a  friar  minor  raking  over  garbage.  Cap- 
tain Salomon  headed  for  a  city  of  dead  men;  and 

81 


82  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

yet,  as  he  sat  facing  towers  and  battlements,  stately 
astern,  he  were  a  spectacle  for  Bordeaux  to  wonder  at, 
had  not  Bordeaux  been  so  deeply  abed.  Arrayed  in 
a  blood-coloured  cloak,  his  sword  upon  his  knee,  one 
keen  eye  of  him,  the  bony  and  red  ridge  of  his  nose 
and  the  ends  of  his  moustachios  only  to  be  seen — all 
the  rest  steel  bonnet  and  blood — he  might  have  been 
a  duke  regnant  homing  to  his  faithful  duchy,  an 
admiral  of  Venice  returning  with  the  spoils  of  East- 
em  warfare.  To  some  few  eyes,  anxious  and  watch- 
ful on  the  quay,  he  did  appear  as  a  portent.  And  yet 
it  is  the  fact  that  there  was  not  a  rascal  there,  pur- 
posing to  help  himself  by  helping  this  impending  ar- 
rival, who  had  less  idea  of  how  he  was  going  to  do  it 
than  Captain  Salomon  himself  had  of  what  he  was 
going  to  do  when  he  landed.  He  surveyed  the  tide, 
he  marked  the  shipping.  There,  fast  moored  and 
empty  now,  lay  the  galleons  which  had  of  late  brought 
men  and  treasure  crowding  to  the  war;  and  he  swore 
to  himself  as  his  boat  brought  up  against  the  stairs, 
"If  fate  must  have  it  that  I  fight  in  this  good  land  of 
France,  let  it  be  for  France  that  I  draw  my  sword. 
England,  England!'*  he  cried,  **thou  who  hast  for- 
sworn me,  be  thou  of  me  forsworn!"  No  matter 
now  what  was  his  grief  against  our  country  and  his, 
though  the  tale  be  fruitful.  He  strikes  thus,  at  the 
outset,  a  tragic  note,  which  the  experienced  will  mark 
and  record. 

Boarding  the  quay  briskly,  he  set  off  as  one  whose 
errand  is  cut  and  dried.  This  was  due,  not  to  an  er- 
rand, for  he  had  none,  but  to  a  maxim  of  his  which 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  83 

said,  Do,  if  you  would  think.  And  another  also 
said,  Seem  to  be  busy  if  you  would  be  so.  He  re- 
jected all  offers  of  guidance,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand 
and  a  snorting  "Si  je  connois  Bordeaux — ha,  Dieu!" 
which  were  decisive;  and  he  was  merciless  to  the 
friendly  salutes  of  such  ladies  as  he  encountered: 
"Beauty  avoid,  here  is  a  tempered  blade."  If  he 
knew  not  where  to  find  what  he  sought,  and  it  is 
probable  that  he  did  not,  seeing  that  he  had  never  in 
his  hfe  set  foot  in  Bordeaux  before,  he  knew  how  to 
place  himself  within  an  ace  of  it.  He  struck  boldly 
up  the  Rue  de  la  Ferroni^re,  and,  Providence  direct- 
ing, the  very  first  person  he  jostled  cried  an  acquaint- 
ance. "Comrade,  all  hail!  What,  little  drinker, 
is  it  thou?"  It  was  pretty  to  see  how  he  embraced 
the  man.  "Save  thee,  old  companion,  'tis  never 
thou!"  Both  cheeks  were  kissed,  back  and  breast 
were  patted,  both  shoulders  were  held  and  their 
owner  swayed  to  and  fro  like  a  loosened  post ;  and  all 
this  without  the  remotest  notion  in  Captain  Salomon's 
head  how  the  devil  this  old  friend  might  be  called. 
"That  botch  on  the  chops  I  know,  and  do  believe 
that  I  gave  him  the  broken  jaw  it  signifies.  That 
drooping  eyelid,  that  nick  in  it — is  it  possible  I 
sliced  him  there?  Very  possible,  by  Cock."  He 
knew  the  man,  he  knew  the  man,  but  could  not  give 
him  a  name.  What  of  that  ?  The  man  invited  him 
to  drink  a  cup  at  The  Stag ;  then  the  man  was  honest 
— and,  "If  I  take  to  him,"  thought  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  "as  kindly  as  I  take  to  this  his  proposal,  I'll 
have  the  name  out  of  him  before  we  come  to  'Host, 


84  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

another  of  your  best.' "  Without  more  said,  he 
crooked  his  arm  to  accommodate  the  man  of  the 
drooping  eyeHd. 

Tongues  ruled  high  and  easy  in  the  kitchen  of  The 
Stag.  The  mistress  of  the  house  sent  the  turnspit 
out  to  play,  lest  he  would  become  wise  before  the 
time ;  for  the  reminiscences  of  these  two  eminent  men 
spared  neither  age  nor  sex.  As  for  the  maids,  one  of 
them  set  foot  over  the  threshold  with  the  morning's 
bread,  and  was  in  the  room  for  just  so  long  as  it 
takes  to  put  a  batch  in  the  oven.  She  entered  re- 
ligion in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  in  the  Ursu- 
line  Convent,  and  broke  the  heart  of  the  scrivener's 
apprentice  who  loved  her.  But  she  said  that  it  must 
be  so,  for  that  she  had  never  known  until  that  mo- 
ment what  men  were  or  women  could  be.  This  is 
very  much  of  a  piece  with  Captain  Brazenhead's  re- 
port of  himself,  that  when,  upon  his  return  from  the 
Lombardy  wars,  he  made  his  confession  in  the 
Church  of  AUhallows  at  Barking,  the  priest  who 
shrove  him  died  in  the  night,  howling  like  a  wolf. 
And  yet  the  conversation  which  furnishes  me  with 
this  anecdote  was  but  so  much  opening  music:  it  was 
not  until  the  sun  was  reddening  the  roofs  of  Bordeaux 
and,  reflecting  from  a  window,  struck  into  the  filmy 
eye  and  drooping  eyelid  of  Captain  Salomon's  friend 
that  any  serious  effort  was  made  by  my  hero  to  come 
to  what  you  might  call  terms  with  the  man. 

But  then  he  hinted — the  man  hinted — at  proper 
business,  men's  business  of  iron  and  hard  knocks, 
which  had  called  him  to  Bordeaux  and  out  of  the 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  85 

snuggest  quarters  that  ever  soldier  had;  to  traverse 
France  from  end  to  end,  to  slink  by  the  mountains  of 
Navarre,  and  enter  Guienne  under  cover  of  night, 
lest  he  might  be  caught  by  the  French  and  taken  out 
of  his  lawful  quarrel  to  enter  into  one  with  which  he 
had  no  concern.  By  "lawful  quarrel"  he  was  easily 
understood  to  mean  that  for  which  he  was  paid. 
Burgundy  and  England  were  his  friends,  he  said,  and 
France  was  the  enemy,  since  France  had  designs  pre- 
cisely where  he  had.  Burgundy  he  had  approached; 
he  had  been  to  Dijon,  thence  to  Besangon,  and  there 
had  seen  the  Duke's  Chancellor.  Burgundy  said 
him  not  nay;  Burgundy  would  advise.  And  now 
he  was  at  Bordeaux  with  messages  for  the  Regent 
of  England  and  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  but  the  one 
was  in  Paris  and  the  other  before  Orleans — and 
meantime  he  had  met  "his  friend  here." 

It  was  now  apparent  to  our  listener  that  his  mysteri- 
ous acquaintance  was  as  completely  ignorant  of  his 
name  as  he  himself  was  of  the  speaker's.  Being  a 
good  judge  of  physiognomy,  he  could  not  doubt  that 
an  excellent  villainy  was  afoot;  of  which,  however, 
he  must  know  more  before  he  committed  himself. 
He  was  careful  in  his  approach,  therefore,  not  dis- 
guising for  a  moment  the  truth  that  he  was  for  hire, 
but  affecting  a  squeamishness  which  he  was  far  from 
feeling  as  to  what  manner  of  service  he  would  take. 
He  dandled  his  foot,  he  looked  about,  clacked  his 
tongue  over  the  wine.  "A  cold  vintage  this  Borde- 
lais,  ha?  Not  a  wine  that  stays  by  you,  ha?  No, 
no,  old  marksman,  give  me  the  rich  vats  of  Volnay! 


86  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

Or  Hermitage  seven  years  in  cellar.  You  are  right, 
you  are  right,  chevalier;  Burgundy  is  the  friend  of 
honest  men.  Hey,  the  golden  slopes,  the  dark-blue 
water,  the  cradling  women  of  Beaujolais!  Ever 
lovely  to  me!  Well,  if  your  quarrel  is  just,  it  is 
enough  for  you.  It  should  be,  to  have  led  you  so  far. 
But  for  me,  companion,  for  me — I  play  the  great 
game.  I  have  played  it  too  long,  and,  I  say  it,  too 
stoutly  to  relish  another.  Your  cattle-lifting,  your 
taking  of  toll  from  merchants  and  pedlars,  your  petti- 
coat-work, your  piracy,  your  fly-by-night,  password, 
privy-post  work — no,  no!  I  set  princes  on  their 
thrones,  I  link  duchy  to  duchy;  by  me  kings  reign, 
and  queens'  dowries  are  made  fatter.  Why,  game- 
ster, you  should  know  me  better!  Where  is  your 
border  warfare,  then?" 

It  is  to  be  judged  that  Captain  Salomon  was  boast- 
ing. So  he  was,  but  with  design.  He  wished  to 
provoke  the  truth  out  of  his  friend,  and  he  did  pro- 
voke some  of  it.  Very  earnestly  regarding  him  out 
of  his  unhindered  eye,  that  friend  put  a  hand  on  his 
knee.  "A  duchy  is  concerned  in  my  errand,"  he 
said,  "and  a  county  also.  The  most  nobly  made 
lady  in  Provence  is  touched  upon  her  honour,  and  a 
most  reverend  prelate  offended.  I  recruit  you, 
chieftain;  chivalry  calls  you — and  this  token,  which 
is  earnest  of  more."  He  drew  out  of  his  breast  a 
purse;  out  of  that  he  chose  two  rose  nobles.  With 
one  he  chinked  for  the  score,  and  paid  it,  the  other 
he  handed  to  his  friend,  who  bit  it  and  was  satisfied. 
Both  gentlemen  rose;  the  man  of  money  put  his  hand 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  87 

upon  the  shoulder  of  the  man  of  wiles.  "We  need 
you,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "we  need  your  sword-arm; 
come  with  us.  I  depart  within  a  few  days  having 
done  my  errand.  I  was  bidden  levy  a  troop — and  I 
have  levied  you!  A  troop!  I  have  in  you  an  army 
for  the  field.  Make  this  your  quarters,  free  lodging 
and  entertainment  is  yours.  You  will  hear  of  me 
when  you  will  at  all  hours.  Till  our  next  meeting — ■ 
remember  Jack  Pym." 

Pym!  If  he  remembered  Jack  Pym!  The  Cap- 
tain slapped  a  peck  of  dust  out  of  his  thigh  as  he  en- 
tirely failed  to  remember  him.  He  raked  into  the 
drabbest  deeps  of  his  memory,  explored  a  history 
which  had  been  more  happily  forgotten  and  ex- 
pended an  ingenuity  which  had  been  better  employed. 
He  did  not  remember  Jack  Pym ;  of  that  he  was  clear, 
and  clear  he  was  also  that  he  did  not  like  him.  "A 
very  paltry,  sententious  dog,  this  Pym,"  he  con- 
sidered, "with  an  eyelid  like  a  guttering  candle.  I 
fancy  the  man  as  little  as  I  fancy  a  boiled  fish,  and  I 
doubt  his  business  here.  Yet  he  has  money" — he 
looked  at  a  fine  coin  in  his  hand  which  men  give  not 
to  men  for  nothing — "and  while  he  has  money  it 
might  be  well" — he  pocketed  the  coin — "to  see 
much  more  of  Pym." 

He  stood,  considering  Pym  and  his  capacities,  in 
the  doorway  of  The  Stag,  looking  out  upon  the  Rue 
de  la  Ferronniere;  and — see  how  things  fall  out  for 
heroes  and  rogues  ahke!  A  girl  was  before  him, 
trundling  a  mop,  a  girl  in  a  green  stuff  petticoat  and 
bodice  of  pink.    She  was  comely,  with  dusty  gold 


88  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

hair  and  gray  eyes;  and  either  her  shape,  which  was 
very  pleasant,  on  the  side  of  plumpness,  or  a  demure 
yet  provocative  look  which  she  had,  arrested  his 
attention.  It  arrested  the  progress  of  his  thoughts, 
for  he  stopped  them,  withdrew  them  from  Pym, 
stroked  his  chin,  took  a  turn  up  the  street,  stopped 
and  again  stroked  his  chin,  returned  upon  his  steps, 
cleared  his  throat,  flicked  upward  his  moustachios, 
looked  at  the  flawless  blue  of  the  sky,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  burst  into  melody  of  the  most  ear-piercing 
kind — melody  which  awoke  the  echoes  of  Bordeaux, 
set  all  the  donkeys  braying,  and  the  guards  running 
about  to  find  the  disturber  of  the  king's  peace. 

*  O  dear  my  love,  my  Pericles,' 
Thus  soft  Aspasia  she  did  sigh, 

*  If  so  you  play  in  companies, 

'How  would  you  do  when  none  were  by?* 

*  Come,  chucky  quod  he,  *  come  out  and  try.* 

You  should  chorus  the  last  line;  but  none  chorused 
it  in  Bordeaux.  As  for  the  girl  who  had  evoked  it, 
she  stood  finger  in  mouth,  elbow  to  mop,  wondering 
upon  the  fine  florid  singer. 

While  she  wondered  he  was  gone — but  not  far. 
He  had  crossed  the  street  and  entered  a  narrow  alley, 
the  Toumant  Bercy,  at  the  end  of  which  a  patch  of 
fine  colour — the  flower  market — had  caught  his  eye. 
Before  she  had  had  time  to  twirl  her  mop  a  dozen 
times  he  was  back,  crossing  the  Rue  de  la  Ferronni^re 
on  tip-toe,  a  propitiating  smile  upon  his  face,  one 
hand  extended  forward,  in  that  hand  a  flower;  one 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  89 

backward,  and  in  that  the  folds  of  his  blood-coloured 
cloak.  In  another  moment  he  was  at  close  quarters ; 
the  flower,  a  clove  carnation,  was  under  her  chin,  its 
stalk  in  her  clasp. 

"For  the  fairest,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  and 
looked  at  her  out  of  one  eye.    The  other  was  closed. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  said — and  the  stalk  of  the  flower 
went  into  her  mouth,  and  thence  the  flower  itself 
dangled,  while  the  conversation,  if  such  it  can  be 
called,  became  fluent  and  intimate. 

She  told  him,  in  reply  to  questions,  that  her  name 
was  Nicole  la-Grace-de-Dieu,  and  that  she  came 
from  Nogent-le-Rotrou  in  the  Orleanais,  or  as  good 
as  in  it — in  it,  that  is,  when  the  French  were  in  fettle^ 
and  out  again  when  the  English  came  up.  She  was 
one  of  the  maids  in  the  kitchen  of  The  Stag,  hired  by 
the  year  for  one  hundred  sols  and  a  new  gown  at 
Lady  Day.  She  was  affectionately  disposed  toward 
Simon  Muschamp,  who  was  one  of  the  singing-men 
in  the  church  of  Saint-Michel-le-Grand,  and  a  great 
musician.  He  had  promised  to  marry  her  when  her 
year  was  up,  and  she  believed  that  he  would  keep 
his  word.  She  liked  flowers  as  much  as  other  girls 
did,  but  of  course  she  had  to  be  careful — ^and  she 
was  his  humble  servant. 

"It  is  otherwise,  far  otherwise,  beautiful  Nicole," 
said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "Listen  now  to  me." 
Whereupon  he  told  her  as  many  surprising  things 
about  himself  as  he  could  remember  or  invent  upon 
the  spur  of  the  moment.  As  for  instance,  he  said 
that  he  was  the  seventh  child  of  a  seventh  child, 


9©  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

perilously  bom  in  the  seventh  month;  that  previously 
to  his  birth,  his  mother,  a  distant  relative  of  the  Sophy, 
had  dreamed  of  basilisks  at  play  in  a  flowery  mead — 
a  thing  which  had  never  happened  to  her  before  any 
of  his  six  brothers  saw  the  light ;  that  he  had  been  bred 
to  arms  from  his  youth  up  and  had  done  feats  on 
horseback  and  afoot  which  he  hesitated  to  relate 
because  of  her  youth  and  inexperience.  He  did, 
however,  give  her  to  understand  that  ladies  had  sighed 
for  him,  not  always  in  vain;  that  perfumed  gloves, 
for  instance,  had  been  wont  to  fall  at  his  feet  as  he 
walked  the  streets  of  nights,  particularly  in  Italy, 
which  he  knew  well.  Ladders,  too,  of  silk,  and  of 
remarkable  lightness  and  pliancy,  had  unfolded 
themselves  from  leafy  balconies  and  invited  him 
to  romantic  adventure  more  times  than  he  could 
afiford  to  remember.  He  had  twice  been  to  Avignon 
and  saluted  the  Pope ;  once  as  vassal  to  lord,  once 
— ''but  then  he  had  affronted  me,  I  own" — as  man 
to  man.  The  Court  was  no  more  strange  to  him 
than  camp  or  bower.  "Sir  John  Falstaff  was  my 
friend.  I  shared  Harry  with  him,  our  late  king, 
whom  Gk)d  assoil.  The  king  that  now  is — royal 
imp  of  Windsor — how  many  times  he  hath  jogged 
upon  this  knee  I  care  not  to  say;  more  times  than 
thou  art  years  old,  maiden,  belike."  He  clapped 
his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  opened  his  second  eye 
upon  the  girl.  "Battered,  indifferent  wicked,  hardy, 
deep  in  craft  and  counsel,  unwearied  in  adventure 
— what  I  have  been  is  all  one.  What  I  may  be  is 
before  you,  lady.    Fortune  calls;  I  see  the  white 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  91 

road  of  honour  winding  like  a  ribbon  among  the  stony 
rocks.  I  go,  I  go,  Fortune;  for  so  it  is  decreed  of 
all  the  Brazenheads.  But  I  should  be  a  recreant 
to  the  blood  I  boast  did  I  either  of  two  things — turn 
my  back  upon  peril  or  my  eyes  away  from  a  beau- 
teous maid.  I  have  touched  you,  I  see!"  He  had, 
it  is  true.  Nicole  wore  a  becoming  blush  and  suf- 
fered an  unquiet  breast.  '*Ha!"  he  cried,  "and  a 
singing  mouse  seeks  you  to  be  his.  Oh,  bleater  of 
anthems,  beware  of  the  soldier!"  A  Httle  more  of 
such  eloquence  was  enough.  With  a  promise  from 
Nicole  that  she  would  wait  upon  him  at  supper, 
"if  her  mistress  would  permit  her,"  Captain  Brazen- 
head  went  blithely  on  his  errands,  if  errands  he  had, 
in  this  good  town  of  Bordeaux. 


CHAPTER  II 

VI   ET    ARMIS 

Simon  Muschamp,  the  singing-man  of  Saint- 
Michel-le-Grand,  proved  to  be  a  ruse  youth  of  a  pale 
and  narrow  cast  of  features,  who  said  little,  twiddled 
his  thumbs,  and  watched  that  irritating  and  endless 
procession  of  them  with  moody  satisfaction.  He 
was  a  native  of  Brabant,  out  of  place  at  Bordeaux, 
very  much  in  the  Captain's  way  when  he  chose  to 
make  an  inconvenient  appearance  at  the  supper- 
table,  at  which  the  fau:  Nicole  had  been  invited  to 
wait,  and  he  had  not.  He  drank  the  Captain's  wine, 
and,  so  to  put  it,  did  not  allow  the  Captain  to  do  more 
than  hold  his  to  the  light.  He  was  thus  the  cause  of 
considerable  constraint;  for  the  lady  was  very  pru- 
dent; and  though  prudence  carried  up  to  a  point  in 
affairs  of  gallantry  is  piquant,  carried  beyond  it,  it's 
the  deuce.  The  Captain — spectacle  of  a  good  man 
struggling  with  calamity — did  his  best  to  bear  off 
the  thing  with  a  high  hand.  He  called  Nicole  his 
charmer  and  a  rose  of  Sharon,  kissed  her  hand  a 
dozen  times;  he  was  affable  to  Simon,  asked  for  a 
specimen  of  his  music,  inquired  into  his  affairs  and 
promised  to  use  his  interest;  hoped  that  he  kept  his 
health,  and  that  his  aged  mother  kept  hers;  was 
shocked  to  find  that  she  was  no  more,  and  so  on. 

9a 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  93 

Nevertheless,  he  found  that  Simon  had  a  cold  and 
critical  eye  frequently  upon  him  and  always  with 
disapproval,  and  a  way  of  turning  down  the  comers 
of  his  mouth,  when  the  tale  took  a  higher  flight 
than  usual,  which  tended  to  shut  Nicole's  rosy  lips — 
wonderfully  open  before — to  a  kind  of  judicial  prim-* 
ness,  and,  in  short,  "took  the  brine"  out  of  our  man 
like  a  flood  of  cold  water.  Brine  was  a  very  necessary 
concomitant  in  the  Brazenhead  mixture.  "I'm  a 
savoury  ham,  and  that's  a  fact,"  he  was  accustomed 
to  say,  "but  you  might  as  well  eat  an  egg  without 
salt  as  souse  the  devil  out  before  you  enjoy  me." 
A  narrow  rivalry  irked  him;  he  was  by  no  means 
jealous,  would  have  shared  such  favours  as  might  be 
allotted  and  welcome ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  scared  off 
by  a  singing-man,  and  when  he  reflected  that  in  a 
day  or  so's  time,  Pym  might  claim  him  for  the  road, 
and  Simon  be  left  in  serene  possession,  he  felt  prickles 
at  the  back  of  his  neck,  which  meant  that  his  hair 
in  those  parts  was  standing  up,  and  was  a  bad  sign. 
Re  had  found  out  in  the  course  of  an  adventurous 
life  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  deny  yourself  what  was 
to  be  had  for  trouble,  and  was  not  long  in  coming 
at  a  short  way  of  dealing  with  Simon.  He  intended 
him  no  bodily  hurt  at  the  moment,  but  was  firmly  of 
opinion  that,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  dignity,  if  Nicole 
was  not  to  be  his,  neither  might  she  be  Simon's. 
**That  upon  which  Brazenhead  casts  a  favouring  eye 
must  be  Brazenhead's  or  God's.  If  so  be  that  I  must 
take  the  road  along  with  my  friend,  warlike  Pym, 
Simon  must  take  it  with  me,  and  Nicole  the  veil.  I  am 


94  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

sorry  for  the  girl,  who  struck  my  fancy,  but  she  will 
not  be  the  first  to  be  scorched  in  my  flame — ah,  and 
shrivelled,  the  pretty  moth!  Alack  that  it  should  be 
so!  But  Cupid  is  a  cruel  god,  as  all  poets  know, 
whose  way  is  over  splintered  rocks.  And  where  is 
the  lover  that  is  not  a  poet?  Not  here" — he  struck 
his  chest — "no,  not  here,  by  Cock." 

Meditating  these  necessities,  which,  or  some  of 
which,  are  common  to  our  nature,  his  surprise  was 
high  when  Simon  Muschamp  waited  upon  him  on  a 
morning,  and  in  the  course  of  private  conversation 
opened  to  him  similar  proposals.  Simon  was  em- 
powered to  offer  his  friend — if  he  might  say  so,  and 
the  Captain  said  that  he  might  for  the  moment — a 
share  in  an  adventure  of  peril  to  which  he  himself 
was  bound;  and  he  did  so,  he  said,  in  the  sure  per- 
suasion that  Captain  Brazenhead  was  one  of  those 
untiring  champions  of  honour  who  would  sooner  re- 
fuse the  sacrament  than  the  chance  of  death  in  the 
open.  When  he  had  added  that  death  was  one 
alternative  and  life  on  a  competence  the  other,  he 
believed  that  all  was  said. 

Captain  Salomon,  who  had  listened  open-mouthed 
to  this  extraordinary  preface,  exclaimed  here  that 
all  was  by  no  means  said.  "As  thus,"  he  went  on, 
"where  are  we  for,  little  man?" 

"With  horse  and  arms,  dear  sir,"  replied  Simon, 
"into  Provence." 

"And  what  do  we  do  with  our  horses  and  arms  in 
Provence?" 

"We  assist,  under  God,  a  lady  of  nobility  and  easy 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  95 

fortune  in  those  parts — the  Lady  Roesia  des  Baux, 
who  is  ward  of  the  Bishop  of  Agde." 

* '  We  go  to  Agde !  We  go  to  the  south !  And  what 
is  the  grief  of  the  Lady  Roesia,  and  what  the  grief 
of  his  lordship  the  bishop?" 

"That,"  said  Simon,  "I  am  not  yet  allowed  to  tell 
you ;  but  I  may  add  that  we  go  in  armed  strength  into 
the  duchy  of  Savoy."  Captain  Brazenhead  was 
confounded — nay,  he  was  shocked.  This  singing- 
man  would  go  armed  into  Savoy,  levying  war!  His 
narrow  eyes  would  peer  into  the  fleshless  orbs  of 
Death: — into  the  bitten  eyes  of  dead  and  ruined 
men! — into  the  scared  eyes  of  dead  women!  This 
throstle-pipe  would  leave  "Jesu,  dulcis  memoria," 
and  try  a  trumpet-stave  of  "Ha,  Saint  Denis!"  or 
"Ha,  Montjoie!" 

He  was  stem  with  the  singing-man.  "Look  you, 
Simon,  I  doubt  your  tale,  and  your  mountains  of 
Savoy.  Pale  weed,  I  have  seen  the  Alps;  white 
death  there,  Simon,  and  ice  in  the  marrow  of  stouter 
men  than  thou!  No,  no.  To  the  quire  with  thee, 
boy.  Prick  songs,  or  souls,  Simon,  and  leave  the 
pricking  of  spears  to  thy  betters!"  His  moustachios 
aspired  toward  heaven,  his  eyebrows  bent  to  meet 
them  on  the  way.  "And  so  much  for  thee,  Simon," 
said  Captain  Brazenhead,  thinking  so,  indeed;  but 
the  singing-man  gently  persisted. 

"My  tale  is  none  the  less  true,  sir.  Soon  we  must 
depart." 

The  Captain  threw  up  his  head. 

"And  where  do  we  go  so  soon?" 


96  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

"We  go  to  Agde,  sir,  to  the  castle  of  the  Lord 
Bishop." 

"Your  authority?"    He  snapped  his  words. 

"My  authority,  sir,  is  a  gentleman-at-arms." 

"Let  me  see  this  gentleman." 

"You  shall,  sir," said  Simon,  and  went  out,  and  re- 
turned with  Pym — Pym  of  the  drooping  eyelid. 
Captain  Brazenhead  was  again  confounded,  and  for 
the  time  capitulated.  There  was  nothing  more  to  be 
said.  He  was  Pym's,  and  Simon  was  Pym's,  and 
Nicole  might  take  the  veil  as  soon  as  she  must.  Thus 
the  high  gods,  wielding  the  world,  wielded  him  and 
his  along  with  it;  but  what  had  confounded  a  not 
easily  confounded  soldier  was  that  Simon  Muschamp 
had  settled  with  Pym  on  his  own  account  that  very 
thing  which  was  to  have  been  settled  for  him.  This 
sort  of  strategy  was  outside  experience,  and  should 
have  given  a  hint  of  the  quire-man's  quality. 

Now,  so  free  was  Pym  of  his  rose  nobles,  so  efficient 
were  his  preparations,  that  in  a  few  days'  time  a  re- 
spectable troop  had  been  collected,  mounted,  armed, 
licked  into  discipline  of  a  kind,  and  was  declared  by 
Captain  Brazenhead  to  be  ready  for  the  field.  By 
*' discipline"  he  meant  that  they  would  none  of  them 
run  away  so  long  as  you  were  looking  at  them — no 
more.  And  "  respectable  "  is,  or  may  be,  an  adjective 
of  number,  and  is  so  used  here.  In  no  other  sense 
could  it  be  applied  to  the  force  about  to  march  to  the 
assistance  of  the  Bishop  of  Agde.  "You  have  here, 
my  Pym,"  the  Captain  had  said  frankly,  "a  score  of 
the  sorriest  scoundrels  in  this  broken  realm  of  France. 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  97 

You  have  a  coin-clipper,  two  Jews,  three  Andalusian 
half-castes,  an  unfrocked  priest,  and  two  men  con- 
demned to  the  hulks  for  robbing  children  on  their 
way  to  church.  If  that  pock-marked  fellow  on  the 
bay  is  not  a  deserter  from  the  English,  then  I  don't 
know  a  horse  from  a  mule;  and  as  for  your  Gascons, 
let  widows  weep.  They  will  talk  themselves  off  this 
earth  in  four-and-twenty  hours.  Then  your  Simbn. 
What  do  you  make  of  Simon  and  his  narrow  face? 
Modesty!  Too  circumspect  for  me,  and  too  careful  of 
the  way  we  are  going.  I  have  a  thought  that  he 
knows  it  backwards  and  intends  to  test  his  knowledge. 
Several  things  incline  me  to  think  that  Simon  and  I 
are  to  try  a  fall  of  wits  together." 

This  was  upon  the  road,  some  few  leagues  from 
Bordeaux,  whence  they  had  departed  at  the  dawn  of 
a  fine  summer's  day,  watched  by  the  fair  Nicole 
la  Grace-de-Dieu.  She,  the  cause  of  much  that  was 
to  come,  had  stood  upon  the  wall  as  they  defiled 
through  the  landward  gate.  In  her  mouth  the  clove 
carnation  of  her  wooing  was  twisting  upon  its  stalk. 
And  "Farewell,  thou  bright  disaster!"  Captain 
Brazenhead  had  cried  her;  for  he  udged  that  much 
her  due  and  his  duty,  and  had  waved  his  hand.  She 
had  kissed  hers  for  answer,  but  whether  to  the  Cap- 
tain or  to  Simon  Muschamp  nobody  can  say.  It  is 
certain  that  Simon  scowled. 

It  would  seem  that  the  pretty  figure  she  made  up 
there — "like  a  wilding  flower" — on  the  wall,  with  the 
sun  on  her  face  and  hair,  persisted  and  gave  thoughts; 
for  the  Captain  led  the  conversation  to  women  and 


98  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

fond  lovers  more  than  once,  and  while  he  did  not 
himself  refer  to  Nicole,  he  was  careful  that  others 
should.  All  he  ever  said  about  her  was  in  answer  to 
some  eulogy  of  P)mi's.  ''She  had  a  taking  shape — 
that's  all  I  know,"  was  his  commentary,  and  a  fit  of 
profound  meditation  the  result  of  that.  But  it  was 
from  the  moment  when  she  kissed  her  hand,  and 
Simon  scowled,  that  the  Captain  began  to  keep  the 
young  man  in  his  eye,  and  he  soon  saw  that  the 
youth's  proceedings  were  not  such  as  a  man  makes 
who  has  a  week's  journey  in  front  of  him.  Nor  were 
they  those  of  a  man  who  is  out  for  a  known  stage  of 
leagues,  and  sure  of  a  night's  rest  for  himself  and  his 
beast.  Simon  spared  his  horse,  travelled  light,  and 
was  careful  of  landmarks.  He  paused  at  the  tops  of 
hills,  inquired  into  the  names  of  villages,  and  refused 
entirely  to  accompany  Captain  Brazenhead  in  the 
pursuit  of  certain  mallards  with  a  goshawk.  All 
these  circumspect  arrangements  of  the  narrow-faced 
clerk  did  his  rival  mark  and  ponder. 

But  other  serious  matters  claimed  a  part  of  his 
attention.  Mr.  Pym,  free  of  Bordeaux,  opened  the 
whole  of  his  commission,  which,  however  little  it  is 
part  of  mine,  I  must  summarise  for  the  reader's  con- 
venience. 

If  the  Lady  Roesia  des  Baux  were  a  person  of  con- 
sequence, as,  being  heiress  of  a  seigniory  and  last  of 
a  long,  wicked,  and  very  noble  line,  she  could  hardly 
fail  to  be,  she  was,  said  Pym,  rendered  doubly  con- 
sequential by  the  fact  of  her  betrothal  to  a  certain 
prince,  no  other  than  the  Count  Philibert  of  Savoy, 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  99 

and  trebly  so,  in  his  eyes,  by  her  tutelage  under  the 
famous  Bishop  Martin  of  Agde,  in  whose  service  Pym 
was  proud  to  acknowledge  himself  and  proud  to  have 
enhsted  his  momentous  friend.  Such  a  lady,  then, 
was  the  Lady  Roesia,  who,  waiting  at  her  ripe  age  of 
sixteen  years  and  a  half  until  it  should  please  Count 
Philibert  to  marry  her,  was  stolen  out  of  her  rocky 
demesne  by  the  Red  Count  of  Picpus  and  taken  a 
prisoner  God  knows  whither,  to  the  scandal  of  all 
Christendom,  the  contempt  of  Holy  Church,  and  the 
vexation  of  everybody  in  the  world  except  Count 
Philibert.  Now,  he,  said  Pym,  being  a  man  of 
forty  years  old,  and  passably  vicious 

An  interruption  from  Captain  Brazenhead  shows 
his  knowledge  of  the  world,  of  men,  and  of  manners. 
**No,  no,  P)nii,"  he  said,  with  Hfted  hand,  "you  are 
wrong.  I  know  the  Prince ;  I  met  him  in  Milan  be- 
fore this  century  was  begun.  His  vices  are  perfectly 
agreeable  to  his  degree.  He  is  of  a  reigning  house, 
brother  to  a  sovereign — ah,  to  a  monarch!  What  in 
you  might  be  deplorable,  my  poor  Pym,  or  in  me 
noteworthy,  in  Count  Philibert,  I  assure  you,  is 
hardly  remarkable."  Pym  was  annoyed,  and  sawed 
the  air  to  show  that  he  was.  "The  thing  is  of  no 
moment,"  continued  his  friend,  "but  yet " 

"Of  moment  or  not,"  cried  Pym,  "it  is  woundily 
inconvenient  to  condone  a  man's  vices  when  I  am 
about  to  tell  you  of  his  lady's  perfections." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "Ad- 
vance, my  Pym." 

The  deed  of  dread  was  done,  the  young  lady  neatly, 


lOO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

expeditiously,  and  immitigably  ravished,  said  Pym; 
and  the  Red  Count  of  Picpus  was  suspected  of  it. 
If  Madame  Roesia  was  not  in  his  stronghold  of  Pic- 
pus in  Savoy,  then  many  persons  were  liars,  and  some 
were  fools.  A  priest,  an  old  priest  of  Beaucaire, 
who  served  the  Red  Count  for  chaplain,  had  her  tale 
in  confession,  had  broken  the  faith  he  owed  his  mas- 
ter, and  given  himself  the  trouble  to  come  down  to 
Agde  to  warn  the  Bishop  thereof.  Now  we  were  at 
the  point.  The  Bishop,  a  warhke  prelate,  was  about 
to  levy  war  upon  Picpus.  Pym,  then  serving  him  in 
an  honourable  capacity,  was  sent  first  to  Burgundy, 
then  to  the  English.  From  Burgundy  he  had  had 
promises,  from  the  English  curses ;  but  from  the  Eng- 
lish, nevertheless  (he  rubbed  his  hands),  he  had  got 
a  jewel  of  price,  when  he  got  Captain  Salomon 
Brazenhead,  sometimes  called  The  Great. 

Captain  Brazenhead,  as  he  listened  carefully  to 
this  tale,  was  not  so  sure  that  Pym  had  got  him,  as 
Pym  seemed  to  be.  There  was  much  to  be  weighed 
in  the  adventure;  and  what  interested  him  mostly  in 
it,  that  to  which  he  found  his  mind  recurring  again 
and  again,  was  what  was  the  present  state  of  Les 
Baux  itself,  that  fair  seigniory,  one  of  the  noblest  in 
Provence?  Sat  Picpus  there  in  possession?  He 
could  hardly  suppose  so.  Had  he  yet,  as  no  doubt 
he  intended,  married  Roesia?  If  he  had  not — if  he 
had  not —  The  red  blood  rose  singing  up  from  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead 's  heart,  and  made  his  head  spin 
round.  So  soon  as  he  was  recovered  from  his  vertigo 
he  interrogated  Pym. 


THE   COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  loi 

"This  is  a  fine  tale  you  tell  me  here,"  he  said.  "I 
should  be  hard  shifted  to  better  it.  And  so  we  are 
for  Les  Baux?" 

"No,  no,"  says  Pym,  "we  go  to  Agde." 

"Peste!  But  we  take  the  road  of  Marseille,  I 
suppose?" 

"We  do  not,"  says  Pym;  "we  take  the  road  of  Per- 
pignan.  Thence  we  ship.  If  you,  an  Englishman, 
are  in  a  hurry  for  heaven,  you  will  enter  the  French 
king's  country  as  soon  as  you  can.  In  that  case  your 
road  lies  yonder.  I  am  in  no  such  hurry.  I  go  to 
Orthez,  thence  to  Pau  in  Beam,  and  thence  by  the 
mountains,  which  are  any  man's  land,  into  the  coun- 
try of  the  Count  of  Foix.    Thence  I  ship  for  Agde." 

"Doubtless  you  are  right,"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head;  "but  now  tell  me  this.  From  Agde  we  go,  I 
suppose,  to  Picpus?  Or  are  we  perhaps  too  late? 
Is  it  possible  that  Picpus  has  possessed  himself  of  the 
Lady  Roesia — I  mean  by  marriage  ?  Or,  again ' ' 

"You  ask  too  many  questions,"  said  Pym  testily. 
"From  Agde  we  by  no  means  go  to  Picpus,  but  to 
Coneo  in  Savoy,  to  the  Count  Philibert.  Do  you 
think  that  lords,  bishops,  and  princes  in  alliance  levy 
war  like  little  pirates,  so  that  the  first  declaration  of 
hostilities  you  have  is  the  slitting  of  your  windpipe  ? 
If  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Agde  has  been  ten  years  learn- 
ing of  the  tale,  may  he  not  be  as  many  months  right- 
ing of  the  wrong,  in  a  nobleman's  manner  ?  Friend, 
you  know  better." 

"Maybe  that  I  do,"  said  Brazenhead  calmly;  "yet 
there  is  much  to  be  said  for  the  more  ancient  plan." 


I02  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

"When  the  Count  and  the  Bishop  have  joined 
forces,  a  summons  of  outlawry  will  be  sent  to  Picpus 
with  heralds  and  a  papal  nuncio.  Protocols  will  be 
exchanged,  ambassadors  accredited;  there  will  be  a 
conference ' ' 

"In  the  meantime  the  Count  of  Picpus  will  have  a 
Countess  of  Picpus,  and  the  seigniory  of  Les  Baux, 
and,  I  should  say,  a  young  Count  of  Picpus  in  arms 
ready  to  be  weaned." 

"You  judge  by  the  staple  of  ordinary  Christians," 
said  Pym,  "but  not  so  are  princes  to  be  measured. 
The  Count  of  Picpus  has  gone  to  Rome  to  sue  for  a 
divorce  from  the  Lady  Blandemire,  his  wife.  It  is 
very  seldom  that  a  gentleman  of  his  degree  can  be 
wedded  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  has  had  three 
wives  already." 

"The  proper  man!  Has  he  so,  indeed?"  says 
Brazenhead;  and  asked  no  more  questions.  Indeed, 
he  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing  which  lasted  him  until  the 
halt  for  dinner  was  sounded  upon  the  horn. 

But  for  all  this  and  that,  he  never  failed  to  keep 
one  eye  upon  the  dubious  proceedings  of  Simon 
Muschamp,  the  pale  singing-man,  whose  narrow 
face  seemed  too  anxious  for  the  steel  sallet  which 
adorned  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

HUE  AND  CRY  AFTER  SIMON 

That  desolate  country  of  salt  marsh,  swamp,  and 
cranes,  which  begins  soon  after  you  leave  Bordeaux, 
delighted  Captain  Brazenhead  when  he  had  shaken 
off  the  effects  of  the  tale  he  had  heard.  It  afforded 
him  abundant  opportunities  for  the  flying  of  his  gos- 
hawk, in  which  he  was  aided  by  such  of  his  com- 
panions as  he  found  to  his  taste.  Simon  Muschamp 
would  never  have  been  one  of  these,  but,  had  he  been, 
he  would  have  declined  the  sport.  That  circumspect 
young  man  was  ever  at  the  tail  of  the  company,  walk- 
ing his  horse  and  spying  at  the  set  of  the  country, 
until  within  a  league  or  two  of  the  monastery  of 
Belin-les-Fosses,  when  its  tall  belfry  could  be  seen 
reddening  to  the  western  sun.  Then  indeed  he 
pricked  forward  to  the  van  and  was  observed  to  be 
in  close  and  intimate  conversation  with  Pym — "Old 
Tallow-Eye,"  as  Captain  Brazenhead  called  him  in 
allusion  to  his  infirmity. 

The  upshot  of  this  dangerous  commerce  with  the 
narrow-faced  man  was  as  painful  to  Pym  as  it  was 
expected  by  his  friend.  The  monks  had  been  hos- 
pitable, the  supper  abundant,  the  wine  beyond  re- 
proach.   Captain  Brazenhead,  having  seen  to  the 

103 


I04  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

bedding  of  his  horse,  was  about  to  consider  his  own; 
in  fact,  he  was  as  good  as  asleep,  when  he  was 
aroused  by  a  most  dreadful  howling,  as  of  a  hound 
with  uplifted  head  pouring  forth  his  complaint  to  the 
full  moon.  Even  this  would  not  have  hurt  the  Cap- 
tain: "damn  the  dog"  would  have  settled  him  off 
again,  but  there  was  more.  His  blanket  was  plucked 
off  him,  his  shoulder  was  gripped  as  by  claws  of  steel. 
''Lady  of  Graces!"  he  cried,  and  sat  up.  There,  by 
the  light  of  the  swinging  lantern,  he  saw  Pym  before 
him,  Pym  with  his  gray  locks  flying  wild,  Pym  with 
his  unhampered  eye  astare,  and  his  other  under  its 
sheath  glimmering  whitely. 

"Help  me!  They  rob!  Pillage!  To  the  thief! 
To  the  thief!" 

These  were  Pym's  words,  roared  blankly  into  the 
vague,  and  his  actions  suited  them.  He  seemed  not 
to  know  what  he  was  doing  with  his  arms.  Captain 
Brazenhead  rose  up  and  girt  on  his  sword. 

"Simon  Muschamp?"  he  asked,  and  needed  no 
answer.  "Then  I  have  him,"  said  he,  and  went 
down  the  ladder. 

As  he  was  saddling,  Pym  told  him  all.  Simon  had 
been  absent  from  supper,  but  so  good  had  been  the 
cheer  that  no  one  had  observed  it.  "You  are  wrong, 
man.  I  noticed  it,"  said  Brazenhead,  and  then  asked, 
"He  has  your  treasure?" 

"He  has  it  all." 

"Why  did  you  entrust  him  with  it,  my  friend?'* 
Pym  hung  his  head. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  of  my  infatuation,  Cap- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  105 

tain,"  said  he,  full  of  shame.  "That  close  rogue  led 
me  to  believe  that  you  had  designs  upon  it." 

"Damn  him,  and  he  was  right,"  said  the  Captain 
to  himself. 

"And  that  it  would  be  safe  only  with  him,  since  you 
knew  him  for  a  declared  enemy,  and  would  never 
touch  him." 

"And  there,"  said  the  Captain,  "Simon  was 
wrong.    Touch  him!    I'll  eat  him." 

The  convent  bell  sounded.  "Matins,"  said  Bra- 
zenhead,  "an  hour  past  midnight,"  he  opened  the 
stable-door,  "  and  three  hours'  moon  to  come.  Pym !' ' 
he  said,  "your  hand.  Expect  me  at  Perpignan.  I 
know  my  road."    Pym  was  in  tears. 

"  God  will  reward  you,  noble  Salomon." 

"That  is  my  confident  expectation,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain. "All  turns  out  for  the  best.  Farewell."  He 
rode  out  of  the  monastery  gates  and  took  the  road  to 
Bordeaux.  His  horse,  pricking  up  his  ears,  was  well 
content  that  it  should  be  so.  He  went  through  the 
sand  at  a  light  and  easy  canter  which  was  a  delight 
to  his  rider.     Captain  Brazenhead  began  to  sing. 

No  need  to  trace  his  steps,  nor  listen  to  his  music. 
He  entered  Bordeaux  one  of  the  first,  and  joyfully 
hailed  the  warder  of  the  gate  as  an  old  acquaintance. 
Hardly  a  soul  was  in  the  streets,  hardly  a  chimney 
smoked;  the  watchmen  sat  in  their  boxes  sunk  asleep, 
and  the  lanterns,  still  alight,  swung  garishly  upon 
their  chains.  He  went  at  walking-pace  down  the  Rue 
de  la  Ferronniere ;  no  signs  of  life  there.  He  turned 
into  the  stable  yard,  dismounted  there,  and  going 


I06  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

to  pick  the  lock  of  the  stable  with  the  point  of  his 
sword,  found  that  job  already  done  for  him.  "Oho! 
run  aground,  Simon!"  said  he;  and  it  was  so.  In 
the  stable,  all  in  a  much  of  lather  and  sweat,  stood  a 
roan  horse.  "  Now  by  Cock  and  his  father,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  there's  a  sorry  knave  to  be  trusted  with  a 
horse.  O  Simon,  Simon,  if  thou  art  not  soon  even 
as  this  good  beast,  may  it  go  hard  with  me  at  the 
Last  Day."  He  was  careful  to  rub  down  his  own 
animal :  he  even  went  the  length  of  covering  Simon's 
with  a  blanket  before  he  thought  of  his  coming  happi- 
ness. These  things  done,  he  went  into  the  house, 
his  boots  in  his  hand. 

All  outer  windows  were  shuttered,  but  within  a 
light  directed  him  toward  the  kitchen.  That  light 
shone,  as  he  knew  very  well,  through  a  window  which 
opened  upon  a  passage.  It  was  used  as  a  buttery 
hatch  in  the  daytime.  Standing  in  the  passage  in  the 
dark  suited  the  Captain  very  well;  for  he  could  see 
and  not  be  seen.  He  put  down  his  boots,  crept  up 
to  the  window,  peered  cautiously  round  the  comer, 
being  careful  that  the  candle  should  throw  no  shadow 
of  him  on  the  wall,  and  saw  what  he  saw. 

Simon  sat  at  ease  by  the  table,  the  remains  of  a 
meal  before  him;  leg-bones  of  chickens,  a  knuckle  of 
ham,  chewed  artichoke,  crumbs  of  cheese,  an  onion, 
and  a  crust  of  bread.  A  jug  stood  there,  a  glass  half 
fuU.  By  his  side  was  a  leather  bag,  tied  with  a  lace. 
His  sword  was  ofiF,  his  doublet  unfastened,  his  feet 
were  on  a  stool,  he  leaned  against  the  wall  and 
picked  his  teeth.    His  countenance  expressed  com- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  107 

placency  and  indifference  to  suffering ;  a  smile  hovered 
over  his  lips,  his  eyebrows  lifted  up  and  down. 
When  he  was  not  engaged  with  his  toothpick,  he 
whistled,  and  when  he  did  not  whistle  he  fell  again  to 
his  excavations.  Before  him  in  a  drooping  attitude 
stood,  or  rather  hung,  Nicole  the  fair — ^Nicole  la 
Grace-de-Dieu — her  face  between  her  hands,  and  by 
the  sudden  motions  of  her  shoulders  it  was  to  be  seen 
that  she  was  crying.  All  else  about  her  betrayed  a 
hasty  summons  from  her  bed;  her  slippers  were  on 
bare  feet,  or  partly  on,  her  hair  was  stuck  up  with  one 
hairpin,  her  petticoat  was  awry,  her  bodice  a  shift. 
But  the  Captain  had  no  eyes  for  such  things;  the  sight 
of  a  girl  in  tears  sent  the  blood  to  his  head.  Before 
he  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  had  swung  open  the 
window  with  a  blow  of  his  fist,  vaulted  through  the 
opening,  and  clasped  Nicole  in  his  arms.  The  maid 
shrieked,  and  Simon  backed  awfully  to  the  wall. 

"Ha,  dog  and  dog's  son,"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  "if  that  wall  could  speak  it  would  cry  out 
against  thee.  But  there  is  no  need  for  testimony 
when  Brazenhead  is  at  hand.  Fellow,  prepare  for 
thy  last  hour  on  earth." 

He  kissed  Nicole's  wet  cheek,  and  set  her  down. 
Sword  in  hand,  he  advanced  to  the  miserable  Simon. 
"Sir,  sir,"  said  that  wretch,  "let  us  reason  together." 
And  the  Captain  paused.  He  could  reason  as  well 
as  any  man;  but  was  this  a  time? 

His  sword  was  shaking  in  his  hand  as  if  he  were 
meditating  where  he  might  best  strike;  but,  as  a 
truth,  he  was  meditating  no  such  matter.    He  was 


io8  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

reflecting  that  Simon  might  be  useful  to  him,  and 
could  not  in  any  case  be  left  in  Bordeaux  alive. 

The  question  then  was,  was  it  wise  to  maim  a  man 
whom  you  must  take  with  you  on  an  expedition  of 
length  and  delicacy?  Would  it  encourage  Simon  to 
be  loyal  and  discreet?  On  the  other  hand,  Simon 
had  behaved  to  Nicole  as  no  man  could  be  allowed  to 
behave  unscathed.  Simon  must  therefore  be  chas- 
tised, but  not,  he  thought,  wounded  with  the  sword. 
He  returned  the  weapon  to  its  sheath,  and  asked 
Nicole  to  get  him  some  stout  cords.  When  she  was 
gone  he  addressed  his  expectant  victim  as  follows: 

"Thou  seest,  singing-mouse,  how  dangerous  it  is 
to  meddle  in  matters  too  high  for  thee.  Happier 
hadst  thou  been  quavering  Pange  lingim  in  thy 
tuneful  minor  than  riding  afield  with  Free  Routiers 
and  Companions  of  the  Road.  Yet  since — to  be  very 
plain  with  thee,  Simon — thou  didst  bring  back  my 
body  to  the  place  where  I  had  left  my  heart,  and 
spare  me,  moreover,  the  irksomeness  of  that  burden 
of  which  it  had  been  all  along  my  intention  to  relieve 
Old  Tallow-Eye,  I  am  content  to  pardon  what  thou 
didst  design  as  a  buffet  at  me.  Not  for  those  things 
am  I  about  to  chasten  thee,  Simon,  but  for  that  thou 
didst  without  the  fear  of  God  before  thine  eyes  deal 
ungentlemanly  with  the  fair  Nicole,  disturbing  her 
slumbers,  causing  her  to  array  her  beauteous  person 
negligently  and  slatternly,  causing  her  to  serve  thy 
trifling  meals,  and  to  stand — she  a  courted  maid  of 
degree — ^while  thou,  singing-man,  didst  sit  dallying 
with  thy  pronged  fork  at  thy  false  teeth;  ah,  proh 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  109 

pudor!  and  causing  her  to  weep  upon  my  account 
with  thy  dastard's  news  of  my  death  at  thy  ridiculous 
hands — the  which  last  is  a  very  abominable  fact, 
and  will  enrol  thy  name  in  the  company  of  Elymas 
the  sorcerer,  and  of  Judas  Iscariot,  that  most  false 
treasurer,  unless  I  sift  thee  as  wheat,  Simon,  unless 
I  throughly  purge  thy  floor,  unless  I  scorch  and 
frizzle  and  fry  the  vice  out  of  thee."  Nicole  entering 
here  with  his  needs,  he  thanked  her  and  sent  her 
away,  lest,  as  he  said,  more  shame  were  laid  upon 
the  man's  shoulders  than  the  man's  shoulders  could 
bear.  She  went,  and  Captain  Brazenhead  very 
heartily  belaboured  Simon  for  near  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  tanning  his  hide  and  dusting  his  jacket  at  one 
and  the  same  time.  That  done,  he  trussed  him  like 
a  turkey — his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  knees  and 
ankles  together;  he  gagged  him  with  a  napkin  and 
bound  him  up  in  a  table-cloth;  he  hoisted  him  on 
his  shoulder  and  carried  him  up  into  the  loft,  where 
he  laid  him  away  upon  a  shelf  as  if  he  had  been  so 
much  kitchen  stuff  put  by  until  winter — a  side  of 
pork  or  a  half  sheep  salted.  "Move,  Simon,  my 
son,"  he  said,  "and  thou  fallest,  and  thy  neck  must 
break.  Move  not,  and  thou  mayest  sleep  at  ease. 
At  nightfall  I  will  come  for  thee,  and  thou  shalt 
take  the  road  again — ^this  time  in  a  gentleman's  ser- 
vice." Returning  to  the  house,  he  put  the  bag  of 
rose  nobles  inside  his  doublet  and  buttoned  it  up. 
It  bulged  at  his  side  like  a  serious  wen,  and  was  not 
comfortable,  but,  as  he  said,  there  were  ways  of 
easing  that  which  would  be  used  soon  enough.    It 


no  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

was  a  far  cry,  he  knew,  from  Bordeaux  to  Les  Baux, 
and  that  was  where  his  fancy  led  him. 

Meantime,  he  sought  the  chambers  of  the  house, 
and,  finding  one  empty,  lay  upon  the  bed,  and  slept 
like  any  patriarch  of  Ephesus. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  REVEALS  HIMSELF 

Enormously  refreshed  by  his  slumbers,  Captain 
Brazenhead  awoke  feeling  the  need  of  a  draught, 
and  roared  until  he  got  it.  He  arose  as  a  giant 
renewed  with  wine,  dipped  his  head  in  cold  water 
and  combed  his  hair  back  with  his  fingers,  gave  a 
flick  to  his  moustachios,  put  on  his  boots,  sword-belt 
and  sword,  and  was  ready  for  what  he  had  to  do. 

His  cloak  upon  his  arm,  his  steel  bonnet  on  his 
head,  he  descended  the  stair  and  inquired  for  Madame 
Comichon.  She  was  landlady  of  The  Stag,  stout 
and  well-favoured;  she  received  him  with  smiles, 
for  his  account  had  been  liberally  discharged  by  the 
lavish  Pym. 

"Madame,"  said  he  —  and  his  French  was  ex- 
tremely polished — "  I  must  beg  the  favour  of  a  short 
but  intimate  conversation  with  you." 

"As  short,  sir,  as  you  please,"  said  Madame 
Comichon,  "and  as  intimate  as  I  please.  On  those 
terms  your  favour  is  granted.  Be  seated,  sir."  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  had  set  a  chair  for  the  lady,  handed 
her  to  it,  seated  himself,  and  laid  his  hand  lightly 
upon  his  heart. 

After  an  effective  pause,  "Madame,"  he  said, 
"I  am  not  what  I  appear." 


112  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

"Nobody  is,"  said  Madame  Comichon,  who  had 
had  a  great  deal  of  experience. 

"And  nobody  less  so  than  I,"  said  the  Captain, 
undismayed.  "For  reasons  of  family,  for  reasons 
of  politics,  I  appear  to  you  as  a  warring  Englishman. 
You  expected  me  to  join  a  company  to  start  for 
Orleans — and  I  surprised  you  by  not  going.  Be 
not  deceived,  madame.  I  am  not  an  Englishman, 
though  the  English  are  my  friends.  My  master, 
however,  is  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  my  mission 
is  done.    I  am  about  to  depart  for  my  lands." 

"  For  your  lands,  sir ! "  cried  the  lady.  "  Gk)d  bless 
me,  have  you  lands?" 

"Madame,  a  many,  fair  and  wide — in  the  east, 
madame.  Reasons,  as  I  say,  of  family  and  state- 
craft urge  me  to  conceal  my  degree;  but  reasons  of 
heart,  madame,  not  to  be  denied,  insist  upon  full 
and  open  confession.  Madame,  I  am  the  Count  of 
Picpus." 

Nobody  could  have  been  more  interested  than 
Madame  Comichon  in  this  dramatic  avowal.  No- 
body could  have  been  more  touched  by  its  frankness 
and  evident  sincerity.  The  revelation  was  sudden; 
but  there's  no  doubt  that  the  name  of  Picpus  had 
struck  the  Captain's  fancy. 

"You  have  in  your  service,  madame,"  he  pur- 
sued, "a  young  person  of  taking  appearance  and 
considerable  charm  of  manner.  I  admit  that  she 
has  pleased  me.  I  consider  that  she  would  look 
well  in  the  chambers  of  my  Castle  of  Picpus.  It  is 
not  often  that  I  am  deceived  in  anybody;  I  am  some- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  113 

what  notorious  for  my  rapidity  of  judgment.  I  say 
that  this  young  person  has  attracted  my  attention, 
and  I  ask  you  whether  the  matter  cannot  be  arranged 
between  us  according  to  the  bent  of  my  humour.  I 
have  here,  madame," — and  he  relieved  his  doublet 
of  its  gigantic  burden — "I  have  here  wherewith  to 
offer  you  any  equivalent  in  reason  for  the  incon- 
venience my  wayward  fancies  may  put  you  to."  He 
untied  the  sack:  "Madame,  how  much  shall  we  say 
for  the  cancelling  of  the  hiring  agreement  of  Nicole 
la  Grace-de-Dieu  ?  "  He  had  a  handful  of  rose  nobles 
weighing  in  his  hand;  and  Madame  Comichon, 
whatever  suspicion  she  may  have  had  before,  had 
nothing  now  but  enthusiasm  for  her  distinguished 
guest. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  she,  "as  I  am  a  very 
honest  woman,  although  I  keep  an  inn,  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  informing  you  that  one  of  those  pieces 
would  pay  the  wages  of  Nicole  for  five  years,  and 
that  half  of  one  would  more  than  pay  her  value  for 
life  in  my  eyes." 

Captain  Brazenhead  replied  somewhat  stiffly, 
"Your  humour,  madame,  does  not  jump  with  mine. 
I  set  no  bounds  to  the  value  of  the  damsel.  But  we 
noblemen  are  not  to  be  denied.  I  could  not,  upon 
my  honour,  assess  the  value  of  the  young  person  at 
less  than  this  sack  of  nobles,  but  I  must  not  gainsay 
you.  You  are  mistress  here,  and  your  word  is  law. 
Allow  me  to  offer  you" — ^whereupon  he  gently  pressed 
a  couple  of  his  fine  coins  into  her  hand.  ''At  nightfall 
I  set  out  for  my  lands,"  he  said,  "and  will  take  the 


114  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

young  person  with  me.  If  it  would  not  be  troubling 
you  excessively,  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  in- 
form her  of  her  changed  fortunes.  Madame,  I  salute 
you — the  Count  of  Picpus,  who  fears  nothing  but  dis- 
honour, salutes  you."  Captain  Brazenhead  kissed  the 
hand  of  Madame  Comichon  and  bowed  himself  out. 
In  so  doing  he  left  behind  him  the  most  astounded 
landlady  in  the  distracted  realm  of  France. 

Leaving  Captain  Brazenhead  for  the  moment  to 
look  after  himself,  as  I  think  I  may,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  his  proposals,  as  translated  by  Madame  Comi- 
chon, with  regard  to  Nicole  made  a  great  stir  in  the 
kitchen  of  The  Stag.  When  Madame  Comichon, 
aproned  and  bare-armed  to  the  elbows,  came  in  to 
prepare  the  eleven  o'clock  ordinary,  and  found  her 
bevy  of  maids,  cooks,  and  scuHions  eating  their  dinner, 
her  first  act  was  to  go  to  Nicole  and  take  her  by  the 
chin. 

"Madame  de  Picpus,"  said  she,  "I  congratulate 
you  with  all  my  heart."  Then  she  kissed  the  girl,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  table,  and  added,  "  Monsieur 
le  Comte  has  been  generous — lavish  indeed.  You 
are  a  fortunate  girl  and  a  joy  to  your  parents — and 
I  lose  a  treasure !  But  I  have  never  stood  in  a  girl's 
way  yet,  and  never  will." 

The  maids  nudged  each  other,  the  varlets  bolted 
their  food  or  choked  within  their  cups  of  hom;  but 
Nicole  crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  Madame 
Comichon,  happy  in  the  bolt  she  had  let  fall  in  her 
little  domestic  pool,  watching,  as  it  were,  the  ever- 
widening  rings  it  made,  smiled  benevolently  upon 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  115 

the  glowing  maid  and  patted  her  cheek.  "Yes,  my 
children,"  she  said,  "we  have  indeed  entertained  an 
angel  unadvised;  but  in  such  a  city  as  Bordeaux,  and 
in  such  an  inn  as  The  Stag,  all  kinds  of  company  may 
be  expected — quality  as  well  as  canaille.  I  do  but 
state  the  fact,  however.  This  child,  whom  I  hired 
six  months  come  Pentecost  in  the  fair  of  Beaugency 
for  a  hundred  sols  a  year  and  a  new  stuff  gown  at 
Lady  Day,  leaves  us  this  night  as  Countess  of  Picpus, 
and  rides  to  her  lands  with  the  Count  her  husband. 
My  lamb,"  and  she  caressed  Nicole,  "this  board  is 
not  for  the  likes  of  you  any  more.  Go  and  clean 
yourself  and  come  into  the  counting-house.  No 
doubt  his  Excellency  the  Count  will  inform  you  of  his 
intentions."  Nicole,  without  a  word  to  say,  rose  from 
the  table  and  retired.  Madame  Comichon  sent  for 
a  flagon  of  Leoville  and  gave  the  toast  of  the  Count 
and  Countess  of  Picpus.  It  was  received  with  accla- 
mation. All  the  maids  of  The  Stag  received  firm 
proposals  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

But  it  was  Captain  Brazenhead's  turn  to  be  aston- 
ished when,  upon  returning  from  his  affairs,  he  learned 
from  Madame  Cornichon  of  the  interpretation  she 
had  put  upon  his  declaration.  For  one  moment  his 
resource  failed  him — for  that  pulsing  moment  when 
Madame  Comichon  said  slyly,  "Curb  your  im- 
patience, monseigneur.     The  bride  arrays  herself." 

He  bayed  upon  her — his  fine  form  bent  itself  at 
the  hips,  as  a  boy's  for  leap-frog;  but  his  head,  stiffen- 
ing, refused  to  bend.  His  eyes,  terribly  fixed  upon 
the  lady,  were  like  speckled  opals,  to  each  a  black 


ii6  THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS 

point ;  his  mouth  was  open,  his  tongue  flapped  heavily 
like  the  tail  of  a  fish  out  of  water.  "PlaU-il?''—he 
made  a  great  effort. 

'^Madame  de  Picpus  va  venir"  said  Madame 
Gomichon;  and  the  Captain  said,  "Ha!"  and  swal- 
lowed hard.  Then,  raising  himself  to  his  natural 
height,  he  folded  his  arms  and  uttered  the  sublime 
words,  "It  is  well;  you  have  done  well,  madame." 

This  heroism  braced  him ;  he  was  able  to  converse 
on  indifferent  topics  with  Madame  Cornichon;  he 
was  able  to  compose  his  mind.  When,  in  due  course, 
the  fair  Nicole  came  timidly  into  the  room,  arrayed  in 
her  gown  of  contract,  the  new  stuff  gown  which  she 
had  received  at  Lady  Day,  and  a  variety  of  silver 
ornaments  in  her  hair,  he  was  able  to  salute  her  as  a 
duchess;  to  kiss  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  hand  her  to  a 
chair,  and  turn  his  mind  to  the  arrangements  proper 
to  be  made  for  a  future  Countess  of  Picpus.  These 
necessitated  another  visit  to  the  town,  another  formal 
leave-taking,  which  was  duly  performed. 

If  it  would  be  hard  to  account  for  Captain  Brazen- 
head's  prevarication — to  use  no  harsher  term — during 
his  first  interview  with  Madame  Cornichon,  so  mo- 
mentous to  himself,  it  would  be  still  harder  to  explain 
his  behaviour  in  the  light  of  the  second.  Perhaps  a 
desire  to  excel,  very  creditable  to  any  man,  may 
have  been  his  monitor;  perhaps  a  prevision  of  the 
course  of  events,  perhaps  a  feeling  that  not  otherwise 
than  by  rigorous  lying  could  he  carry  off  at  one  and 
the  same  time  his  personal  dignity  and  a  kitchen- 
maid  from  The  Stag  who  had  caught  his  fancy  and 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  117 

inflamed  his  passions.  To  do  the  Captain  justice, 
I  propose  a  compromise.  A  man  is,  in  a  sense,  what 
he  desires  to  be:  if  Captain  Brazenhead  therefore 
aspired  to  a  County  in  Savoy,  in  imagination,  in  all 
that  ennobles  a  man  and  sets  him  above  the  brutes, 
he  was  indeed  a  Count.  The  title,  Count  of  Picpus, 
so  trippingly  did  it  come,  had  captivated  him  from  the 
first  moment  he  heard  it;  no  dream  of  his  hot  mid- 
night youth  could  have  flattered  him  with  a  fairer 
future  than  such  a  degree.  Count  of  Picpus!  Oh, 
it  should  go  hard  with  him  if  such  were  not  his  style 
within  the  year.  And  he  had  a  plan :  he  saw  his  way: 
he  did  but  advance  by  a  few  mad  months  the  astound- 
ing, the  overwhelming,  the  reeling  fact.  And  then 
came  the  thought  of  Nicole,  that  charming  girl,  so 
bashful  and  yet  so  circumspect.  Here  I  think  we 
may  put  a  finger  upon  the  point  where  magnanimity 
became  a  source  of  weakness,  and  imagination,  like 
an  over-fertilised  plant,  wasted  in  profusion  of  leaf- 
age what  might  have  produced  fruit-bearing  flowers. 
His  intentions  toward  Nicole  were  up  to  this  point 
vague  if  generous.  His  Castle  of  Picpus:  she  would 
look  well  there.  He  saw  her  already  there,  trundling 
a  mop,  a  carnation  between  her  teeth — charming, 
charming  Nicole !  Better  this  by  far  than  the  life  of 
religion  to  which  he  had  so  nearly  resigned  her.  So 
far  and  no  further  had  his  fancy  carried  her  when  he 
opened  his  mind  to  Madame  Comichon. 

But  Madame  Comichon  was  made  of  different 
fibre,  or  you  may  be  sure  she  had  never  thriven  at  The 
Stag.    Imagination  with  her  was  strictly  limited  to 


Ii8  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

the  scope  of  the  cash-box.  She  had  as  little  zest  for 
long  scores  as  for  long-bows.  To  her  mind  this 
bristling,  ardent  Count  of  Picpus,  with  his  sackfuls 
of  minted  money  and  tales  of  dukes  and  lordships, 
was  a  romantic  figure  just  so  far  as  his  sacks  and  his 
duchies  would  take  him;  otherwise  he  was  plainly  a 
fool.  In  nothing  was  he  so  plainly  a  fool  as  in  his 
proposals  toward  Nicole  and  his  extravagant  pay- 
ment for  the  forfeiture  of  her  hiring.  What  the 
exact  nature  of  these  proposals  might  be  she  did  not 
inquire  or  care,  but  it  suited  her  humour  to  give  them 
an  ironic  magnificence.  It  gratified  her  to  go  into  her 
own  kitchen  and  pluck  out  a  little  nobody  by  the  hand 
and  announce  her  to  her  gaping  mates  as  a  Countess 
of  Picpus.  It  gratified  her  also  to  impart  to  her 
astounding  guest  the  droll  turn  she  had  given  to  his 
arrangements.  This  sort  of  thing  tickled  Madame 
Comichon.  She  indulged  her  contempt  for  the  lower 
orders,  and  was  able  to  put  a  man  who  gave  himself 
airs  into  a  ridiculous  position — his  proper  place,  in  fact. 

But  she  had  reckoned  without  her  Captain,  or 
rather  she  had  reckoned  with  only  half  of  him.  And 
if  she  made  that  half  of  him  ridiculous  which  she 
understood,  that  other  half  of  him  which  she  could 
never  understand  made  her  in  turn  ridiculous.  For 
that  other  half  of  him  took  her  seriously — and  was  in 
five  minutes  as  complacent  as  could  be  over  the  new 
aspect  of  afiFairs. 

Countess  of  Picpus !  Thus  in  a  flash  the  Captain's 
heart  tutored  his  head.  Oh,  shy,  recondite  and 
humble  beauty!    Oh,  peering  hedge-flower!    What 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS 


119 


a  Countess  of  Picpus  he  had  won!  There  is  no  man 
of  heart  and  head  who  does  not  picture  with  a  beating 
pulse  the  day  when  he  may  lift  such  an  one  out  of 
the  dust,  and  say,  "Behold,  my  dove,  my  fair  one, 
what  a  crown  for  thy  quiet  brow  is  provided  by  the 
largess  of  my  love!"  I  say  that  this  was  a  noble 
aspiration  of  Captain  Brazenhead's,  which  only  lacked 
performance  to  make  all  earnest  lovers  ashamed  to 
put  their  professions  beside  it ;  and  I  say  also  that  it 
is  hard  to  reproach  a  soldier  with  his  lack  of  a  title 
of  honour  before  the  very  existence  of  that  dignity  has 
been  for  twenty-four  hours  within  his  knowledge. 
Certainly  Captain  Brazenhead  would  have  laid  the 
Picpus  circlet  at  the  feet  of  Nicole  had  he  had  it. 
As  he  had  it  not,  the  next  best  thing  which  he  could 
do  he  did — I  mean,  when  he  hailed  her  by  the  name 
which  he  now  entirely  intended  her  to  bear. 

A  tailor  with  three  apprentices,  from  the  Rue 
Saint-Remy,  was  occupied  with  the  person  of  the 
new  Madame  de  Picpus  from  noon  until  five;  a 
riding-dress  of  crimson  velvet  of  Genoa  figured  with 
pomegranates  and  coronets  was  the  result — and  a 
charming  result.  A  peaked  headdress,  with  a  silk 
veil  about  the  turned-back  brim,  for  the  dust  and  heat 
of  travel,  added  dignity  to  charm;  scarlet  riding-boots 
of  soft  leather,  gauntlets  of  chamois  skin — but  so 
much  for  the  outward  necessaries  of  a  lady  of  con- 
dition; and  of  the  others,  invisible  but  very  proper,  be 
sure  that  the  rose  nobles  of  the  Bishop  of  Agde  did 
not  spare  them.  At  a  quarter  before  six  Captain 
Brazenhead  entered  the  counting-house  of  Madame 


I20  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

Comichon  and,  jewelled  cap  in  hand,  bowed  before 
his  bride.  In  a  stately  manner,  forgetful  neither  of 
the  emotions  of  a  lover  nor  of  the  dignity  of  rank,  he 
knelt  to  kiss  her  hand.  Madame  Cornichon  was  by 
this  time  in  tears.  She  was  herself  a  personable 
woman,  a  widow  of  but  a  few  months'  standing;  it 
is  possible,  therefore,  that  her  tears  were  not  of  pure 
happiness;  it  is  possible  that  envy  was  the  drop  of 
venom  which  gave  them  a  sting.  Here  was  a  splen- 
did man  on  his  knees  to  a  slip  of  a  girl — and  for  God 
knew  what  reason,  since  there  was  nothing  in  her. 
However  that  may  be,  she  was  a  good  soul  and  vowed 
their  Excellencies  should  have  cause  to  remember 
their  last  hour  at  The  Stag  of  Bordeaux.  Excusing 
herself,  she  hastened  to  the  kitchen,  and  soon,  while 
Captain  Brazenhead  was  kissing  Madame  de  Picpus, 
a  fine  capon  was  turning  on  the  spit,  and  two  scullions 
basting  it  with  lard. 

The  Captain  did  not  conceal  his  extreme  satis- 
faction with  the  turn  of  events.  With  Madame  de 
Picpus  on  his  knee  he  explained  to  her  how  fortunate 
was  the  hour  in  which  he  had  first  seen  her  trundling 
her  mop.  "  But  for  thee,  my  heart's  heart,  I  had  been 
trailing  through  the  swamps  of  Guienne  in  the  hire 
of  a  Bishop  of  Agde;  but  for  thee,  I  had  been  at  the 
mercy  of  a  man  with  but  one  serviceable  eye ;  but  for 
thee  there  had  been  no  County  of  Picpus,  no  treasury, 
without  which  titles  of  honour  are  but  an  itch.  In 
fine,  my  sovereign,  from  thy  lap  have  I  picked  up  all 
my  worldly  store,  and  it  shall  go  hard  with  me  but  I 
return  it  sevenfold  in  thy  bosom." 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  121 

Nicole  thanked  him  becomingly.  "Sir,"  said  she, 
"I  will  engage  to  be  an  obedient  wife  to  your  lord- 
ship.   I  am  but  a  poor  girl " 

"Zounds!"  cried  the  Captain,  "not  at  all.  You 
are  a  very  lovely  person,  and  need  but  a  thing  or  two, 
which  you  shall  presently  have,  to  be  the  Countess 
in  fact  which  you  are  already  in  expectation." 

"And  what  things  do  I  need,  sir?"  asked  Nicole. 
The  Captain  stretched  out  his  hand  and  took  a  flower 
from  a  glass.  "To  my  eye,"  he  said,  "you  need  a 
flower  in  your  mouth.  Not  that  your  lips  are  not 
already  a  flower,  but  that  the  obstacle  may  provoke 
me." 

Laughingly  she  took  the  stalk  between  her  teeth. 
"We  cannot  live  on  kisses,  sir,"  she  said. 

"We  can  try,  however,"  said  the  Captain,  and  tried. 

I  think  that  Captain  Brazenhead,  suffering  from  a 
defect  which  is  common  to  all  great  men,  had  under- 
rated his  charming  companion.  Because  she  was 
pretty,  he  thought  she  was  a  toy;  because  she  was 
scared,  he  thought  she  was  unformed;  because  she 
was  kind,  he  thought  that  he. should  have  the  forming 
of  her.    The  reality  was  to  be  made  plain  to  him. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  now,  sir?" 
asked  Nicole,  when  the  Captain  had  demonstrated 
his  point  about  kisses.  It  will  now  be  seen  that  she 
was  a  girl  of  some  force  of  character,  for  when  he  had 
replied  gaily  that  he  was  about  to  make  her  his 
Countess,  she  asked  him  if  he  was  a  Count.  Now, 
nobody  had  ever  asked  him  that  before,  and  for  a 
moment  it  sobered  him. 


122  THE  COUNTESS  OF   PICPUS 

"By  the  Face,  and  I  am  not,  my  dear,  and  that's  a 
fact,"  said  he.  Nicole  pondered  this  avowal  with 
hanging  head.  She  did  not  move  from  her  seat  upon 
his  knee,  but  she  plucked  the  carnation  to  pieces 
while  she  thought. 

"Then  how  am  I  a  Countess?"  was  the  upshot 
of  her  meditation.  The  Captain  stroked  his  mous- 
tachios. 

"In  this  way,  as  I  take  it,  my  dear.  I  am  a  man 
of  decision  and  speed,  as  you  have  found  out — hey?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Nicole,  "so  much  I  have  found 
out." 

"Counts  are  as  plenty,"  he  continued,  "as  herrings 
in  the  blue  water — and  where  I  go  there  are  Counties 
to  be  had." 

"And  where  do  you  go,  sir?" 

"I  go  to  my — to  Picpus." 

"Oh,  sir,  that  is  far!" 

"It  is  in  Dauphine,  I  believe,"  said  the  Captain, 
"or  thereabouts.    I  know  the  road." 

"And  in  Picpus — you  will  be  Count  of  Picpus?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead. 
"In  Picpus  I  shall  secure  the  Lady  Roesia  des-Baux, 
whom  one  Picpus  stole  as  a  guileless  infant,  and  shall 
restore  her  to  her  inheritance.  By  that  means  I 
earn  her  undying  gratitude,  and  the  pardon  of  her 
kinsman  the  Bishop  of  Agde  for  a  temporary  in- 
convenience I  may  have  caused  him.  In  the  very 
act  of  so  doing  I  possess  myself  of  the  Seigniory  of 
Picpus;  for  the  robber  and  assassin  who  now  holds 
it,  you  must  understand,  is  gone  to  Rome  to  seek 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  123 

a   divorce  from   his  wife,   the   Lady   Blandemire. 
Therefore " 

"Therefore,"  said  Nicole,  "one  of  two  things  must 
occur.  Either  you  marry  the  Lady  Roesia  instead 
of  her  present  possessor — in  which  case  I  am  not 
Countess  of  Picpus,  or  you  slay  the  Count  of  Picpus 
on  his  return  to  his  castle — in  which  case  you  are 
hanged." 

"  Pest !"  said  the  Captain,"  all  this  is  very  possible." 

"I  have  a  proposal  to  make,"  said  Nicole,  "which 
is  that  you  do  not  go  to  Picpus  at  all,  but  leave  the 
Lady  Roesia  where  she  is,  and  the  Count  of  Picpus 
in  Rome." 

"And  where  do  you  propose  to  go,  my  love?" 
said  he. 

"I  propose  to  go  to  Les-Baux,  which  is  nearer, 
and  has  more  amenity.  I  don't  love  mountain  coun- 
tries. I  am  not  used  to  them,  and  they  give  me  the 
spleen." 

"Les-Baux,"  said  the  Captain,  "is  good,  and  a 
fair  inheritance.  But  it  is  in  ruin,  and  all  the  in- 
habitants put  to  the  sword  by  the  false  Picpus." 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Nicole.  "You  and 
I  will  repeople  it,"  and  she  blushed  faintly. 

"I  see  my  way  so  far,"  said  the  Captain;  "I 
certainly  see  my  way.  But  the  Count — the  false 
Picpus,  as  I  have  well  called  him " 

"You  tell  me  that  he  is  unknown  in  Provence?" 

"  Save  in  name,  and  by  a  reputation  which  is  both 
redoubted  and  deplorable,  I  believe  he  is." 

"Then  you  have  answered  your  own  objection," 


124  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

said  Nicole.  "He  remains  the  false  Picpus,  and  you 
the  true  Picpus.    Am  I  clear?" 

"  Clear  as  the  sky  of  Provence,  clear  as  the  Rhone 
flood.    But  the  Lady  Roesia ?" 

"I  am  your  Lady  Roesia,"  said  Nicole,  and  kissed 
Captain  Brazenhead.  You  need  not  ask  with  what 
rapture  she  was  pressed  to  his  bosom,  nor  whether  her 
kisses  were  returned.  He  swore  by  the  Nine  Worthies 
of  Christendom  that  no  Count  of  Picpus  his  ancestor 
had  ever  won  a  more  dainty  bride.  He  blessed  Bal- 
thasar,  King  of  Armenia  and  Cologne,  that  from 
his  loins  had  sprung  so  notable  a  Des-Baux — last, 
loveliest,  and  most  subtle  of  her  race.  He  reminded 
her  of  the  war-cry  of  her  family,  in  case  she  should 
have  forgotten  it.  '^Au  hasard,  Balthasar! ' '  he  cried, 
and  waved  his  sword  over  their  heads: — and  he 
swore  by  Saints  Dominus,  Tecum,  and  Nobis  Pec- 
catoribus  that  not  one  hour  should  elapse  before  he 
was  heading  for  the  violated  domain  of  his  injured, 
innocent,  and  ravished  lady. 

Considerably  more  than  an  hour  did  elapse,  how- 
ever, for  there  was  a  supper  with  Madame  Cornichon, 
which  was  gay,  and  a  ceremony  to  follow  it,  which 
was  protracted.  Indeed,  the  sun  was  dimpling 
Garonne  with  points  and  cressets  of  light  when  the 
horses  were  brought  out  and  Madame  de  Picpus  lifted 
gallantly  to  the  saddle  by  her  spouse.  Even  then  a 
chance  word  from  Madame  Cornichon  in  the  midst 
of  her  farewell  reminded  Captain  Brazenhead  that 
a  duty  remained  undone. 

"Au  honheur^  monsieur  el  dante"  cried  the  good 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  125 

woman  for  the  fifteenth  time,  "but  it  vexes  me  that 
you  should  leave  without  a  lackey."  Then  Captain 
Brazenhead  struck  his  thigh. 

"I  have  one,  by  Cock  and  had  forgot  him.  Go 
one  of  you  and  fetch  me  my  rascal."  And  he  named 
the  shelf  where  Simon  Muschamp  would  be  found. 

And  so  he  was,  and  there  is  no  need  to  ask  whether 
he  swore  to  be  a  loyal  servitor  to  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Picpus.  If  thirteen  hours'  vigil,  trussed 
on  a  shelf,  do  not  inspire  a  man  with  a  devoted  at- 
tachment to  his  master — to  say  nothing  of  a  drubbing, 
robbery  of  a  sack  of  rose  nobles,  robbery  of  a  mis- 
tress— then,  where,  we  may  ask  with  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  where,  in  this  world  may  an  honest  servant  be 
found?  Simon  Muschamp's  own  ideas  on  this  and 
other  subjects  will  be  learned  very  slowly.  I  will 
only  warn  the  reader  that  he,  too,  had  a  soul  of  his 
own;  which  is  probably  the  case  with  every  man  bom 
of  woman,  though  the  romancers,  historians,  and 
politicians  of  the  world,  for  reasons  best  known  to 
themselves,  are  apt  to  overlook  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  CITY  ACCURSED 

In  after  years  Captain  Brazenhead  could  never 
hear  the  name  of  Raymond,  be  told  that  the  day  was 
the  sixteenth  of  May,  or  be  reminded  of  the  city  of 
Toulouse  without  an  affection  of  the  muscles  of  the 
face  painful  to  witness.  A  series  of  twitchings,  like 
those  incessant  flickering  sheets  of  light  which  the 
Italians  call  Saint  Elmo's  fire,  played  upon  him 
without  mercy.  He  looked  like  a  palsied  man.  His 
lips  shot  open  and  showed  his  teeth  chattering  to- 
gether; his  eyelids  glimmered  over  eyes  all  white;  his 
ears  seemed  endowed  with  a  life  of  their  own,  and  his 
moustachios  bristled  of  themselves.  The  reason  of 
this  malady,  fortunately  transient,  has  now  to  be 
related.  In  the  city  of  Toulouse,  on  May  i6,  1428, 
under  the  governance  of  Sieur  Raymond  de  Breteuil, 
chief  Consul  of  the  place.  Captain  Brazenhead  suffered 
defeat,  deprivation  of  goods,  wounding  of  his  mem- 
bers, and  rigorous  confinement  to  gaol.  Let  these 
things  be  related  in  order. 

If  we  are  to  consider  as  defects  in  his  character 
that  he  too  readily  believed  persons  to  be  what  he 
wished  them  to  be,  and  too  readily  supposed  cir- 
cumstances to  be  remediable  by  exertion,  our  judg- 

126 


THE  COUNTESS  OP  PICPUS 


127 


ment  upon  him  will  be  lenient,  for  these  are  noble 
defects.  His  was  that  generous  nature  which  gives 
as  lightly  as  it  takes;  it  made  him  an  ardent  friend  as 
well  as  a  gallant  enemy;  it  caused  him  to  forgive  as 
readily  as  to  pursue;  and  while  his  head  was  exceed- 
ingly fertile  in  shifts  and  delighted  altogether  in  plots 
against  the  law,  human  and  divine,  it  was  not  within 
his  power  to  refrain  his  heart  from  exulting  in  their 
remarkable  subtlety,  nor  from  inviting  approbation 
of  them  from  those  whose  fitness  to  approve  was 
sometimes  peculiar. 

Some  of  these  qualities  of  the  Captain's  have 
already  been  exhibited.  It  may  be  said  that  he  had 
been  precipitate  in  his  alliance  with  the  fair  Nicole, 
peremptory  in  his  dealings  with  Simon  Muschamp; 
that  he  had  been  predatory,  indeed.  He  had  pos- 
sessed himself  of  a  heart  to  which  Simon  had  had  a 
claim,  of  treasure  which  Simon  had  secured  for  him- 
self, of  a  County  of  Picpus:  lastly,  he  had  laid  hands 
upon  the  person  of  Simon,  had  drubbed  it,  trussed  it, 
put  it  on  a  shelf.  Pass  all  these  things:  to  the  victor 
the  spoils — he  would  have  been  the  first  to  admit  it. 
But  then  his  nobility — that  greatness  of  soul  which 
must  needs  be  generous  with  what  it  has  not,  sooner 
than  ungenerous — entered  into  a  plot  against  him. 
He  was  reproached  by  Madame  Comichon — or  felt 
it  a  reproach — that  he  was  a  Count  who  took-a  lady 
into  his  lands,  not  as  his  Countess.  He  could  not 
bear  that ;  he  made  her  his  Countess.  He  was  made 
next  to  feel  very  keenly  the  perilous  tenure  of  the 
coronet  which  Nicole  had  been  asked  to  wear,  and 


128  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

agreed,  too  readily  perhaps,  to  the  remedy  which 
proposed.  In  other  words,  to  ensure  her  a  County 
which  he  did  not  possess  he  agreed  to  her  assumption 
of  a  name  to  which  she  had  no  claim.  Had  this  been 
all  it  had  been  enough ;  but  there  was  more.  Madame 
Comichon  had  regretted  the  absence  of  a  servant. 
Could  a  Count  bear  that  his  lady  should  so  travel 
through  France  unattended?  He  felt  that  keenly;  it 
stung.  Remembering  Simon  Muschamp,  with  whom 
he  might  well  have  been  content  to  cry  quits,  remem- 
bering greatly,  he  forgave  him,  and  set  him  up  as  a 
servant.  He  did  unwisely;  he  started  a  new  score  on 
the  slate,  which  he  had  to  pay. 

Following  the  course  of  the  Garonne  toward  its 
fountainhead,  all  went  well  with  Captain  Brazenhead 
until  he  left  English  territory  at  Maimande  and 
entered  the  tormented  soil  of  France.  Here,  as  he 
told  Nicole,  it  was  necessary  to  go  tender-foot,  to 
avoid  cities,  to  lie  close  by  day,  to  work  in  the  dark. 
Nicole  agreed  to  these  reasonable  precautions  very 
cheerfully;  she  was  a  charming  companion,  full  of 
resource,  complaisant,  and  not  easily  daunted.  Part- 
ly upon  her  advice,  partly  because,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, he  admired  the  name,  he  used  his  title  of  Count 
of  Picpus  whenever  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
declare  himself  It  may  have  helped  him  here  and 
there,  or  it  may  not;  it  certainly  gave  him  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure,  and  he  may  have  indulged  a  par- 
donable vanity  in  respect  to  it  more  than  was  prudent. 
Simon  Muschamp,  the  Loyal  Servitor,  as  he  was 
pleased  to  call  himself,  used  it  on  every  occasion. 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  129 

There  was  no  inn  at  which  they  baited,  no  smithy, 
no  toll-gate,  no  ferry,  no  monastery  in  which  they 
spent  the  night,  and  no  tavern  in  which  the  Captain 
delighted  to  tell  his  tales,  where  full  warning  had 
not  been  given  beforehand  of  his  Excellency's  wealth, 
prowess,  rank  and  ancestry.  The  consequence  of 
this  was  that  the  fame  of  Monsieur  de  Picpus  went 
before  and  spread  about  him,  and  that  when  he 
arrived  in  any  village  the  inhabitants  stood  to  receive 
him  with  their  caps  held  out.  Into  these  he  did  not 
fail  to  drop  coins  of  silver.  He  endowed  marriage- 
able maidens,  he  gave  honest  youths  their  indentures. 
In  or  near  Montauban  it  is  said  that  he  touched  for 
the  evil,  but  I  think  this  must  be  an  exaggeration, 
although  it  is  certainly  a  fact  that  a  member  of  the 
house  of  Picpus  had  once  been  anti-pope  for  a  week. 
Another  consequence  was  that  Simon  was  pretty 
soon  able  to  leave  the  renown  of  M.  de  Picpus  to 
take  care  of  itself — another  that  the  sack  of  rose  nobles 
became  less  and  less  inconvenient  to  carry. 

Nevertheless,  all  went  passably  well  until,  in  an 
evil  hour.  Captain  Brazenhead  fell  in  with  Nicole's 
whim  and  consented  to  diverge  from  his  safer  road 
— ^which  had  been  across  the  watershed  from  Villemar 
into  the  valley  of  the  Tarn — in  order  that  she  might 
make  her  offering  at  the  famous  shrine  of  Saint 
Semin  in  the  city  of  Toulouse.  He  should  have 
known  better,  and  he  did.  The  men  of  Languedoc 
were  his  detestation  and  derision  at  once.  He  con- 
sidered that  they  talked  too  much  and  too  loud;  he 
considered  them  vainglorious  and  liars;  and  he  could 


I30  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

not  deny  that  they  were  as  handy  with  the  sword,  or 
nearly  so,  as  they  said  they  were.  Toulouse,  again, 
was  perilously  near  Perpignan,  where  Pym  should 
be  awaiting  him  and  his  treasure — Pym  of  the 
drooping  eyelid,  with  the  Bishop  of  Agde  on  his 
mind.  All  this  the  Captain  urged  upon  his  Nicole's 
attention,  but  so  delicately  that  it  is  just  possible 
she  missed  his  apprehensions.  He  did  not  say,  "My 
life,  let  us  avoid  Toulouse  as  we  should  the  devil.  If 
I  am  known  in  Toulouse  I  may  be  taken:  if  you  are 
known  there,  you  may  be  put  to  the  Bridewell  or 
whatsoever  plague  of  a  name  they  give  that  sort  of 
place  in  this  country."  This  he  did  not  say,  but 
instead,  taking  her  rosy  face  between  his  hands, 
smiling  upon  her  in  that  easy  way  a  man  well  fed 
is  wont  to  take — "Why,  chuck,"  said  he,  "hast  thou 
a  thanksgiving  to  make  on  my  account?  Hath 
Heaven  been  so  kind  ?  Hast  thou  a  man  at  thy  feet 
who  can  deny  thee  nothing,  and  must  thou  needs 
boast  of  that  to  Our  Lady?  Store  it  up,  child,  in 
thy  pretty  head  until  we  reach  the  good  town  of  Albi. 
There  is  a  rare  church  there,  I  know,  for  once  when 
I  served  Burgundy  I  helped  to  sack  it — and  this 
cicatrice,  look  you" — he  bared  his  right  arm,  and 
there,  deep  forested  in  hair,  showed  the  white  scar — 
"came  from  a  dint  with  his  crosier  which  the  Abbot 
of  Saint-Symphorien  gave  me.  In  Albi  minster 
shalt  thou  give  God  thanks  for  stout  Salomon,  thy 
lord,  pretty  sweeting — but  not  in  Toulouse,  as  thou 
lovest  him."  Nicole  pouted  and  withdrew  her  face 
from  his  hands.    The  Loyal  Servitor  intruded. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  131 

"Your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "if  I  make  bold  to 
speak." 

"It  is  granted,  Simon." 

"Then,  sir,  I  say  that  madame  is  right,  and  your 
Excellency  in  error." 

"How  so,  by  the  Face?" 

"Thus,  sir.  In  Albi  you  are  nearer  to  your  mark, 
but  further  from  your  power  of  hitting  it.  From 
Toulouse — if  you  retire  to  reach  it — ^you  can  spring 
further." 

The  Captain  said,  "I  take  you ;  I  am  obliged  to  you 
— enough  said,"  which  was  his  invariable  habit  when 
something  was  put  to  him  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand. He  had  no  more  objection  to  offer,  and 
Nicole  once  more  put  her  face  between  his  hands. 
They  rode  into  Toulouse  by  nightfall  the  next  day. 
That  was  the  1 5th  of  May. 

The  offering  which  Nicole  designed  for  Saint 
Semin's  shrine  was  a  handsome  candle  of  ten  pounds' 
weight.  It  was  very  necessary  that  it  should  be 
carried  for  her  to  the  church,  and  indeed,  as  Simon 
pointed  out,  that  some  warning  should  be  given  to 
the  Canons  of  the  Church  of  the  approaching  bounty. 
Space  would  be  required  for  such  a  candle;  the  shrine 
might  be  locked,  the  guardian  away.  Now,  for  a 
lady  of  the  condition  of  Madame  de  Picpus  to  pre- 
sent herself  with  a  ten-pound  candle  and  be  kept 
waiting  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  What  did  his 
Excellency  advise  ?  His  Excellency,  who  was  sleepy 
and  had  been  too  early  roused,  was  short  about  the 
candle. 


132 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 


"Waiting?  Will  they  keep  thy  mistress  waiting? 
There  will  be  ears  to  be  slit  if  they  do,  the  southern 
swine.  Go  you,  Simon,  and  tell  Messieurs  les 
Chanoines  that  Madame  de  Picpus  is  inclined  to 
salute  Monsieur  Saint  Semin,  who,  if  he  is  the  gentle- 
man I  take  him  for,  will  be  too  much  honoured  by  the 
compliment.  Go  you,  in  the  devil's  name,  and  leave 
me  to  my  repose." 

"I  will  go,  sir,"  said  Simon,  and  went.  At  a  later 
hour  Monsieur  de  Picpus  accompanied  madame  to 
the  church  of  Saint  Semin,  which,  with  the  Golden 
Violet  of  poets,  is  the  chief  glory  of  the  city  of  Tou- 
louse. I  must  be  more  exact.  He  accompanied 
Nicole  to  the  door  of  the  church,  but  excused  himself 
from  further  attendance. 

He  had  always  had  churches  in  suspicion,  chiefly 
because  for  fighting  purposes  they  cramp  a  man — 
with  their  doors  which  lead  to  other  doors,  and  their 
cloisters,  where  you  may  chase  about  like  a  rat  in  a 
cage  and  never  get  nearer  your  man,  or  further  from 
him,  as  your  case  may  urgently  need.  Outside  he 
would  admire  with  all  the  world,  and  there  was  no 
better  judge  than  he  of  the  scope  of  a  great  nave,  the 
buttressing  of  chapels,  the  poise  of  a  cupola,  or  the 
right  proportions  of  flanking  towers.  Inside,  he 
would  not  go  if  he  could  help  it.  "They  talk  Latin 
in  there;  they  talk  to  themselves.  It  may  be  mis- 
chief they  are  devising;  who  knows?  Once  I  was 
carried  to  church,  and  they  put  salt  on  my  tongue 
and  scared  me  damnably,  as  I  hear  by  report.  Other 
times  I  have  been,  and  once  more  I  purpose  to  go; 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  133 

but  then  I  shall  be  carried  thither,  and  in  a  manner 
careless  what  tongue  they  choose  for  their  conver- 
sations." He  was  very  stout  upon  this  matter,  and 
the  fair  Nicole,  whose  hope  it  certainly  was  to  get 
him  to  church  before  long,  had  to  give  way.  He 
held  aside  the  curtain  for  her  and  bowed  her  in,  and 
that  done  he  walked  up  and  down  the  square,  ex- 
panding his  chest  and  spreading  his  cloak  to  the  early 
morning  sun.  There  was  much  business  doing  there : 
the  market  was  at  its  height  and  the  chattering  as 
shrill  as  that  of  pies  in  a  pear-tree.  Captain  Brazen- 
head  admired  and  was  admired.  The  fine  eyes  he 
made,  the  fine  figure  he  was — his  crimson  cloak,  his 
gold  ornaments,  his  long  sword,  and  his  thigh-boots! 
If  he  caused  hearts  to  flutter  and  eyes  to  fall  there's 
no  wonder,  for  his  affability  was  extraordinary,  and 
Tolosan  beauty  is  famous  all  the  world  over.  But 
his  eye  was  very  much  upon  the  young  men,  whose 
fine  bearing  pleased  him  while  he  disapproved  their 
clamouring.  "With  some  of  these  striplings  I  could 
do  very  well,"  he  considered.  "They  would  look 
well  in  the  Picpus  livery,  the  Picpus  bannerol  flutter- 
ing from  their  spears.  A  forced  march,  a  series 
of  them,  a  night  surprise,  the  barbican  snatched — 
the  seneschal  on  his  knees  with  the  key  on  a  cushion : 
I  see  it  all.  And  these  dark-skinned  young  heroes 
for  my  feudatories,  crying,  'A  Picpus!  A  Picpus!' 
The  thought  warms  me.  I  must  make  a  levy:  it  was 
good  that  I  came  hither,  it  seems.  Bless  the  pious 
thought  of  Nicole  my  Countess  that  is  to  be!" 
These  and  other  imaginations  occupied  him  very 


134  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

pleasantly  for  an  hour  and  a  half.  He  carried  them 
with  him  to  the  Tavern  of  the  Burning  Bush,  where 
they  lost  nothing  by  the  application  of  strong  waters 
to  their  fire.  It  was  toward  the  hour  of  noon  when 
he  went  again  to  the  church  and  sat  himself  upon  the 
steps  of  the  parvise,  to  wait  for  Nicole,  and  to  con- 
tinue his  meditations.  It  is  certain  also,  and  not 
surprising,  that  he  slept;  for  his  nights  had  been 
broken  of  late,  and  he  had  much  need  of  repose. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  as  nearly  as  possible  three 
o'clock,  an  hour  when  nobody  in  Toulouse  with  a 
door  to  his  house  is  outside  that  door.  Captain 
Brazenhead  sat  up  with  a  jerk  of  the  head,  snorted, 
sneezed  twice,  and  was  awake.  The  position  of  the 
sun  warned  him  that  much  time  had  been  consumed, 
the  state  of  his  feelings  that  no  food  had  been. 
Where  the  mischief  was  Madame  de  Picpus  ?  Where 
the  Loyal  Servitor,  one  of  whose  first  duties  surely 
was  to  see  that  his  master  was  filled?  Before  him, 
as  he  wandered,  the  Place  Saint-Semin  stretched 
out,  vast  and  arid  plain  of  white  pavement  quivering 
with  radiant  heat ;  behind  him  towered  up  the  figured 
side  of  the  church,  silent,  shrouded,  immense,  tenant- 
ed only  in  its  topmost  flight  by  pigeons.  The  mys- 
tery of  all  this  emptiness,  the  irresponsiveness  of  the 
mountainous  masonry,  the  shade  in  which  he  had 
slept  so  long,  struck  a  chill  upon  him.  He  shivered; 
a  premonition  came  to  him  stealthily  like  the  wind  of 
an  approaching  storm.  Upon  his  feet  the  next  mo- 
ment ,  he  tried  the  doors ;  they  were  locked.  He  strode 
the  length  and  breadth,  the  returning  length  of  the 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  135 

church;  all  doors  were  locked.  He  was  puzzled,  he 
was  uneasy,  he  was  extremely  hungry.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  Madame  de  Picpus  had  returned  to  the  inn  ? 

Was  it  possible,  O  Heaven,  that ?    Before  he 

had  achieved  the  terrible  thought  that  possessed  him 
he  stopped,  fell  a-trembling,  stooped  and  picked  up 
something  from  the  pavement.  It  was  a  flower:  a 
clove  carnation  with  a  bitten  stalk.  Here,  then,  was 
the  message  of  disaster — the  one  piteous  cry  for 
help  which  Nicole  had  been  able  to  voice.  This 
indeed  smote  him  like  a  stroke  of  the  sun  through 
the  shoulder-blades.  He  had  no  doubts  now:  he 
was  ashy-pale  when  he  looked  up.  "Now,"  he 
said,  "I  know  the  worst.  My  glory  has  faded,  the 
chill  grows.  It  is  the  hour  of  sunset."  He  made  the 
sign  of  the  Cross  as  he  invoked  the  Saints  of  his  inner- 
most reverence.  "Cosmas  and  Damian,  you  physi- 
cians of  the  soul,  Martin  of  Tours,  thou  princely 
giver,  Salomon  my  namesake,  and  you,  ye  Eleven 
Thousand  Virgins,  my  countrywomen  and  my  pat- 
terns as  well,  aid  me  in  this  hour  and  watch  over  me 
well.  It  is  the  hour  of  sunset,  say  you?  Amen, 
says  Brazenhead,  but  this  sun  shall  go  down  in 
blood."  He  threw  about  him  his  cloak  of  imperial 
dye,  put  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and 
strode  over  the  Place  Saint-Semin. 

Tall  houses  stood  about,  fronting  the  church,  silent 
all  and  shuttered  against  the  sun.  A  narrow  arched 
entry,  cut  out  of  two  such,  was  the  road  he  elected  to 
go.  It  led  into  a  cave  of  dark  and  gloomy  aspect,  a 
lane  between  high,  black,  and  unfeatured  walls,  whose 


136  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

rare  windows  were  barred  with  iron  and  doors  studded 
with  the  same.  It  bore  the  unhappy  designation  of 
the  Rue  des  Yeux  Crev^s;  but  it  led  him  directly 
to  his  inn,  and  he  did  not  notice  its  name.  Roland 
at  the  closing  in  of  the  Dolorous  Pass  could  not  have 
been  more  indifferent  than  he  to  presages  of  evil. 
Was  not  evil  already  there  ? 

A  man  in  a  peaked  cap  stepped  out  of  a  doorway, 
a  sworded  man  in  a  black  cloak,  a  man  of  sinister 
aspect,  with  a  bristling  beard,  hooked  nose,  and  a 
pair  of  high,  arched  eyebrows,  one  higher  than  the 
other. 

"Give  you  fair  afternoon,  sir,"  said  he,  with  what 
Brazenhead  felt  to  be  ironic  intention.  He  took  it 
up  as  it  was  meant. 

"It  is  a  very  foul  afternoon,"  said  he  shortly, 
" and  you  shall  give  me  nothing."  The  man  stopped, 
drawing  back  his  head  and  presenting  a  shoulder. 

"Do  you  bandy  words,  swordsman?  Are  you  for 
a  play?" 

"By  Cock,  and  I  bandy  what  you  please,"  says  the 
Captain.  "I  have  heavy  thoughts,  and  a  heavy 
hand  at  a  play." 

Then  his  man  came  toward  him,  peaking  his  head 
like  a  running  bird.  "You  are  uncivil,  sir,  look 
you,"  says  he,  "and  that  may  not  be  with  a  gentle- 
man of  Toulouse." 

Captain  Brazenhead  threw  open  his  cloak.  "I 
have  yet  to  learn  that  I  am,"  he  said. 

"TouclUP^  cried  the  man,  and  whistled  on  his 
fingers.     Immediately  the  entry  seemed  to  swarm 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  137 

with  men,  who  came  from  all  sides  and  in  all  manners, 
like  conspirators  from  a  wood  in  a  tragedy.  Two  let 
themselves  down  from  an  upper  window,  one  came 
running  up  from  the  archway  behind  him,  two  more 
from  the  angle,  others  from  doorways  in  recesses. 
All  were  armed,  and  all  in  a  hurry;  and  even  as  they 
came  on,  the  first  arrival  had  drawn  his  blade  and 
was  pressing  our  Captain.  This  was  an  ambush, 
it  was  clear,  and  promised  to  go  hard  with  its  victim. 
He  did  all  that  a  man  could,  encompassed  by  so 
cloudy  a  host.  Planting  himself  against  the  wall, 
his  cloak  about  his  left  arm  for  a  shield,  his  sword 
whisking  now  here,  now  there,  it  was  a  truly  terrific 
defence.  And  as  he  fought  he  sang  gaily  to  him- 
self, his  troubles  forgot.  Or  he  talked,  "Bristles, 
beware,  thou  fightest  Brazenhead!  Ah,  that  was 
shrewdly  encountered,  boy  of  Shrewsbury! 

The  maid  looked  up,  the  maid  looked  down, 
With  never  a  word  to  say — a. 

Why,  scullion,  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  have  it  and  hold — " 
and  here  to  a  creeping  ruflBian,  who  had  come  on  all 
fours  behind  to  hamstring  him  with  a  bill,  he  gave 
his  death-blow  between  the  shoulders  and  withdrew 
the  sword  in  the  nick  of  time  to  parry  a  lunge  from  his 
first  opponent  and  to  flesh  him  deeply  in  the  groin. 
He  disarmed  yet  another;  but  when  two  came  at 
him  together,  and  a  third,  clambering  from  the  pro- 
jecting grating  of  a  window,  cut  at  his  head  with  a 
halberd,  his  attention  was  distracted,  and  a  wound 
in  the  forearm  maddened  him.     Coolness  deserted 


138  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

him;  for  a  moment  or  two  he  saw  all  the  passage  one 
burning  red;  then,  like  the  tortured  bull  in  the  ring, 
he  went  blindly  to  his  destruction,  leapt  upon  his 
coupled  foes,  grappled  and  fell  with  them.  There 
was  a  crowded  moment  of  snorting,  tussling,  and 
stabbing  on  the  ground,  and  for  one  man  at  least  it 
was  his  last.  But  he  who  had  stood  in  the  window 
jumped  from  his  advantage  into  the  TniUe,  and, 
alighting  in  the  small  of  the  Captain's  back,  knocked 
him,  as  he  said,  "all  ways  at  once";  others  came  to 
help  ...  all  was  over.  Captain  Brazenhead  in 
chains,  was  hailed  to  the  donjon,  and  there  for  the 
present  he  must  remain. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GREAT  LEVY 

The  window,  to  call  it  so,  of  the  prison  in  which 
our  Captain  lay  for  three  weeks  looked  upon  the 
elegant  belfry  of  Saint  Godoi,  church  of  that  pious 
hero  who  was  first  a  slave,  then  a  Christian,  then  an 
archbishop,  and  then  all  three  at  once,  until  martyr- 
dom was  added  as  a  perfect  distinction  from  all  other 
slaves,  Christians,  and  archbishops;  and  upon  this 
belfry  in  the  early  day  of  his  incarceration  a  couple 
of  pigeons  had  set  up  their  nest,  and  used  to  delight 
him  with  their  innocent  demonstrations  of  affection. 
Occasionally  they  harrowed  his  feelings,  for  he  could 
not  but  remember,  "Thus,  ah,  God,  I  might  have 
kissed  the  neck  of  the  lovely  Madame  de  Picpus!" 
or  "Thus,  in  my  courtly  fashion,  I  might  have 
swelled  before  my  Countess,  thus  bowed  and  curvetted 
before  her,  and  thus — aha!"  A  spasm  of  baffled 
hope  would  interrupt  him  here,  and  turn  him  to  other 
relaxations  of  his  hard  leisure — such  as  the  taming 
of  a  mouse,  study  of  the  architecture  of  Saint  Godoi's 
belfry,  or  attacks  upon  the  virtue  of  the  gaoler's 
daughter,  a  personable  Tolosan  who  brought  him 
bread  and  water  twice  a  day.  But  she  gave  him  to 
understand  that  she  could  not  abide  a  hairy  man, 

139 


140  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

since  her  affections  were  unalterably  set  upon  a  canon 
of  the  cathedral.  He  had  no  notion  of  the  state  of 
her  feelings,  she  said;  but  that  made  no  difference. 
Where  the  treasure  is  there  will  the  heart  be,  and  sh? 
had  rather  listen  to  his  blackbird  notes  in  choir  and 
think  with  unencumbered  mind  upon  his  smooth 
person  than  be  the  promised  bride  of  Cyrus,  King 
of  Persia,  or  two  Roman  Emperors.  So  piteous  a 
tale  of  true  love  unrequited  touched  Captain  Brazen- 
head's  heart,  and  he  took  a  vow  of  celibacy,  and  kept 

it  until  he  was  released  from  prison,  when but  I 

anticipate. 

Severe  scrutiny  was  cast  upon  him  when  two  of 
the  Consuls  of  Toulouse,  with  scribes  and  men-at- 
arms,  visited  his  cell,  but  no  direct  accusation  was 
brought  against  him,  and  there  was  no  talk  of  a  trial. 
High  crimes  and  misdemeanours  were  hinted  at.  It 
was  said  that  he  had  refused  to  enter  a  church;  and 
men  had  been  burned  for  less  than  that.  He  had 
attacked  six  citizens  and  wounded  four  of  them;  he 
had  publicly  cursed  the  city  of  Toulouse.  All  this — 
the  paucity  of  such  charges — ^was  very  encouraging, 
and  disposed  Captain  Brazenhead  to  be  eloquent. 
It  was  plain  that  they  knew  nothing  of  Pym,  of  the 
Bishop  of  Agde  and  his  necessities;  it  was  plain,  in 
short,  that  one  could  do  no  harm  and  might  do  much 
good  by  copious  lying.  "When  you  are  in  a  strait," 
the  Captain  was  fond  of  saying,  "it  is  far  better  to 
be  eloquent  than  terse.  For  if  you  tell  your  adver- 
sary many  things,  mixing  the  true  with  the  false,  he 
is  certain  to  believe  you  a  liar  and  to  doubt  most  of 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  141 

what  you  tell  hfrn.  If  among  the  many  things  he 
disbelieves  the  truth  is  not  included,  then  you  are  a 
bungler,  and  deserve  what  you  get."  Captain 
Brazenhead  was  therefore  eloquent.  If  the  Consuls 
had  been  Moses  and  Aaron,  and  Captain  Brazenhead 
a  rock  in  Canaan — if  their  charges  against  him  had 
been  the  staff  with  which  they  struck  him,  and  his 
speech  the  miraculous  result — then  all  that  can  be 
said  is,  the  children  of  Israel  had  been  drowned. 
He  soused  them  with  periods;  they  cast  up  their 
hands  from  his  words  like  foundering  men.  One 
scribe  wore  his  pen  down  to  the  feathers  and  the  other 
drank  the  ink,  as  if  he  would  write  with  his  fingers. 
The  last  phrase  actually  written  down  was,  "Oh, 
perverse  and  malignant  generation  of  the  latter  days 
of  the  once  inclyte  and  hierophantic  city  of  Toulouse, 
where  I,  descended  from  the  Emperors  of  Byzantium, 
like  another  Prometheus,  give  fire  to  men  and  perish 

at  the  entrails "  and  the  reason  why  the  sentence 

was  never  finished  was  that  the  Consuls  were  running 
about  the  room  calling  for  help,  and  that  the  scribe 
who  had  drunk  the  ink  was  ill.  Among  other  facts 
insisted  upon  by  Captain  Brazenhead  three  stand  out 
as  particularly  significant:  (i)  That  he  was  seventh 
child  of  a  seventh  child,  bom  in  the  seventh  month; 
(2)  that  he  was  Count  of  Picpus  in  Savoy ;  and  (3)  that 
for  two  cocks  of  the  eye  he  would  have  the  life  of 
every  man  in  the  room  with  a  bootjack.  The  first 
and  third  of  these  propositions  they  could  not,  for 
obvious  reasons,  dispute;  but  the  second  contained 
highly  contentious  matter,  and  would  certainly  have 


142  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

been  doubted  had  there  been  time.  It  was  not  until 
the  prisoner's  torrent  had  ceased  to  flow  and  the  Con- 
suls had  bowed  themselves  out  and  collected  their  wits 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  that  they  remembered  the 
only  thing  they  had  found  opportunity  to  say  in  de- 
parting, which  was  that  he  should  hear  further  from 
them.  And  their  difiiculties  were  to  decide  whether 
he  should  hear  from  them,  whether  he  would,  and 
whether  if  he  should  or  would,  he  would  have  any- 
thing left  to  reply.  These  grave  questions  were  still 
in  debate  when  events  took  the  very  surprising  turn 
which  it  is  now  my  duty  to  relate. 

Captain  Brazenhead,  after  sleeping  off  the  fatigues 
of  so  much  language,  observed  and  was  delighted  to 
observe  from  his  window  the  next  morning  that  the 
pigeons  were  about  to  harvest  their  amorous  hus- 
bandry; that,  in  other  words,  they  were  about  to  be- 
come parents.  A  nest  was  in  making,  simple  in  con- 
struction, but  of  entire  efhcacy.  The  hen  bird,  with 
head  nestled  into  crop,  and  no  feet  to  be  seen,  couched 
fluffily  within  a  coign  of  the  masonry;  by  her  side  her 
mate  stood  erect,  a  straw  in  his  beak.  The  nest  was 
thus  symbolised,  and  all  was  well;  but  whether  two 
eggs  were  laid  instead  of  one  and  he  was  stimulated 
to  new  efforts,  or  whether  he  dropped  the  straw  and 
had  to  seek  another,  I  know  not.  The  facts  are  that 
he  presently  flew  down,  was  absent  for  some  little 
time,  and  that  when  he  returned  he  bore  in  his  beak 
the  stalk  and,  upheld  by  that,  the  drooping  head  of  a 
clove  carnation.  Captain  Brazenhead,  in  his  nar- 
row cell,  gave  a  great  cry,  and  then  stood  very  still, 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  143 

while  his  heart  beat  like  the  hopper  of  a  mill,  and  a 
tear  furrowed  each  war-worn  cheek  and  fertilised  the 
roots  of  each  moustachio.  "Lo,  now,  I  know  that 
my  star  rides  clear  of  clouds,  high  in  heaven.  Venus, 
goddess  of  the  heart,  I  thank  thee!  Netted  Mars, 
receive  the  praises  of  thy  doting  imp!"  He  sat  with 
folded  arms  upon  his  bed,  awaiting  his  release ;  and 
the  gaoler's  daughter  might  ogle  him  till  midnight  in 
vain. 

It  is  to  be  believed  that  the  Captain,  meditating 
profoundly  upon  Destiny,  never  shifted  his  posture 
all  night;  the  fact  is  that  he  was  found  bolt  upright 
upon  his  bed  when  the  gaoler's  daughter  came  into 
his  cell  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  with  a  jug  of 
sour  wine  and  a  crust  of  stale  bread.  His  mouse, 
which  had  been  taught  punctuality  at  meals,  was 
upon  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand,  in  a  posture  in- 
dicative of  suspense  and  supplication.  Suspense 
was  also  indicated  by  the  Captain's  posture,  but  not 
supplication  by  any  means. 

"A  fair  day  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  damsel. 

"You  make  all  days  fair,  lady,"  he  replied;  "yet 
I  tell  you  that  this  day  is  the  fairest  that  ever  I  saw.'* 
She  looked  very  wise. 

"You  little  know  what's  astir  in  our  town,  that's 
very  plain,"  said  she,  "or  you  would  not  prophesy  at 
random.  Fair  indeed!  The  tale  runs  that  you 
are  to  be  burned  to-day  as  a  scandalous  liver;  and 
however  I  trusted  myself  in  your  company,  after 
hearing  such  a  character  to  you,  I  shall  never  under- 
stand.   Why,  you  might  take  advantage  of  me  at  any 


144  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

moment — and  no  doubt  but  you  will  if  I  do  not  for- 
tify myself  with  all  my  virtue." 

Captain  Brazenhead  listened  to  this  provocative 
speech  with  attention;  but  most  of  his  attention 
seemed  directed  to  his  mouse. 

"You  mustn't  tell  me,"  he  said  presently,  "that 
omens  are  nothing,  because  I  know  better.  I  re- 
member very  well  dreaming  once  upon  a  time  that  a 
man  walked  down  a  green  meadow  with  a  flaming 
brand  in  his  hand,  and  wherever  he  dropped  fire 
snakes  followed  after  him.  '  This  is  the  day !  This 
is  the  day!  This  is  the  day!'  he  called  out,  thus, 
three  times:  and  I  awoke  and  went  about  my  busi- 
ness ;  and  that  day  Jack  Pounce  drove  me  in  the  guts 
with  the  handle  of  a  broom,  and  I  slew  him — or  as 
good  as  slew  him.    So  now  you  may  see,  my  dear." 

The  gaoler's  daughter  looked  serious.  "Alas!'* 
she  said,  "I  see  that  I  am  nothing  to  you,  sir." 

"That's  my  belief,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead, 
feeding  his  mouse  with  breadcrumbs. 

Nothing  occurred  to  justify  the  prisoner's  con- 
fidence until  a  quarter  before  eleven  in  the  forenoon 
of  that  day;  but  then  he  was  justified.  Steps  re- 
sounded up  the  stairs,  the  steps  of  many,  steel-shod; 
his  door  was  struck  three  times.  "This  is  the  day,'* 
said  Captain  Brazenhead  in  a  shocked  whisper;  and 
then,  clearing  his  throat,  he  cried  them  in.  Bolts, 
locks,  and  bars  creaked  his  release.  Two  Consuls, 
a  herald,  and  a  stranger  in  steel  stood  in  the 
entry.  The  Consuls  bowed,  the  herald  stepped 
forward. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  145 

*' Count  of  Picpus "  he  opened;  Captain  Bra- 

zenhead  stood  up  and  folded  his  arms  over  an  inflated 
chest. 

"He  is  before  you." 

"From  the  puissant  and  excellent  lord  the  Vis- 
count of  Turenne — these  letters,"  and  handed  out  a 
sealed  writ. 

Now  Captain  Brazenhead  could  not  read,  had 
never  been  able  to  master  that  branch  of  science. 
He  waved  his  hand  twice  before  his  face. 

"Let  me  hear  your  letters,"  he  said,  refolded  his 
arms,  and  frowned  upon  the  herald,  who  read: 

"Count  of  Picpus, — I  direct  you  by  the  faith  and 
allegiance  which  you  owe  me  as  a  vassal,  to  repair 
instantly  to  the  domain  of  Les-Baux  in  the  County 
of  Provence,  there  to  resume  possession  in  my  name 
and  title  of  the  castle  and  good  town,  denying  all 
access  thereto  to  the  Lady  Roesia  Des-Baux,  until 
such  time  as  I  shall  appear  before  it  and  demand  an 
account  of  you.  And  for  so  doing  let  this  be  your 
sufficient  warrant,  as  witness  my  hand. 

"  Le  Vicomte  de  Tuilenne." 

This  ended,  folded,  and  put  into  Captain  Brazen- 
head's  hands,  the  two  Consuls  bowed  to  him  and  to 
each  other;  and  Captain  Brazenhead  said,  "It  is 
well.     I  am  ready.     Lead  on." 

He  knew  the  Viscount  of  Turenne  excellently  hy 
reputation,  as  all  Aquitaine  knew  him  too  well. 
Flail  of  Provence  he  was  called,  and  relished  the 


146  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

title.  A  greater  man  than  the  King  of  Aragon,  as 
good  a  man  as  the  King  of  France,  south  of  the  Loire, 
and  not  much  inferior  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  him- 
self, he  was  yet  a  simple  land  pirate,  but  the  most 
famous  ever  known  in  Gaul.  Captain  Brazenhead 
had  not  suspected  his  finger  to  be  in  the  sauce  when 
Pym  revealed  what  he  chose ;  there  was  no  doubt  that 
a  different  tinge  was  cast  over  the  Bishop's  affair  by 
the  fact ;  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  Captain  Brazen- 
head,  expanding  in  the  full  sun  at  the  door  of  his 
prison,  felt  himself  uplifted.  "And  where,"  he  said 
to  the  obsequious  herald,  "is  my  good  friend  the  Vis- 
count to  be  found?  Where  are  his  knees,  between 
which  these  two  hands  have  so  often  been  folded? 
Where  is  his  ringed  right  hand,  which  these  lips  have 
so  properly  kissed  that  in  the  old  days  he  was  more 
than  once  suspected  of  a  chilblain?" 

It  was  explained  to  him  that  the  Viscount  was  by 
no  means  in  these  parts,  but  believed  to  be  at  Macon, 
where  he  had  a  castle  and  held  his  court.  Details 
had  been  left  to  his  lordship  of  Picpus,  who  would 
find  a  sufficient  force  in  the  garrison,  and  an  escort 
in  this  city  of  Toulouse.  Captain  Brazenhead 
rubbed  his  chin. 

"More  than  escort  is  needful  to  a  man  of  my 
quality,  herald — much  more  than  escort.  Over- 
powered by  some  fifty  villains  of  this  place,  I  was 
robbed,  ravished,  undone.  For  three  weeks  I  have 
lived  upon  rye  bread  and  stale  water.  I  require  to 
dine,  to  be  clothed,  armed,  sworded,  harnessed, 
accoutred,  put  in  fettle,  taught  my  value  in  the  world. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  147 

You  will  find  me  an  apt  pupil,  quick,  retentive,  avid 
of  learning.  Begin,  then,  begin.  I  require  good 
money,  and  much  of  it." 

The  herald  was  chapf alien.  "Alas,  dear  sir,  that 
is  the  one  article  which  is  lacking  in  the  equipment  I 
am  able  to  offer  to  your  lordship.  Money!  Ah,  that 
is  a  branch  of  learning  somewhat  neglected  in  our 
country.  We  are  paid,  or  pay  ourselves,  in  kind. 
We  call  it  levying  a  contribution " 

"It  matters  not  what  you  call  it,  one  snap  of  the 
fingers,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "The  point  is 
whether  you  get  what  you  levy." 

"Sir,  we  mostly  do,"  said  the  herald,  "though  our 
company  is  called  the  Tard-venus." 

"Late-come  is  often  best  served,"  said  the  Captain. 
"Prove  me  your  words.  Levy  me  a  larded  capon 
stuffed  with  black  beans  in  half  an  hour  from  now. 
Levy  me  a  quart  of  red  wine,  a  manchet  of  bread, 
and  some  garlic,  and  I  shall  believe  you." 

"You  shall  be  gratified,  my  lord,"  said  the  herald. 
"At  The  Pheasant  in  half  an  hour." 

"I  shall  be  there,"  said  the  Count  of  Picpus, 
spreading  himself  in  the  sun. 

He  levied  the  services  of  a  barber,  and  needed 
them,  for  his  beard  was  prodigious.  In  the  barber's 
shop  he  found  a  young  gallant  with  a  sword  three 
sizes  too  big  for  him,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  razor  or 
two  he  levied  that.  The  young  man  made  a  great 
outcry,  and  was  for  summoning  the  town  guard,  so 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  levy  the  young  man. 
Captain  Brazenhead  bound  him  to  the  service  of  the 


148  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

Flail  of  Provence  by  the  promise  of  a  duchy  and  a 
pension,  and  the  threat  of  instant  chastisement  upon 
a  sensitive  part,  and  that  in  the  Place  Saint-Sym- 
phorien  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  if  he  refused. 
An  oath  was  delivered  and  received,  which,  as  it  is 
rather  blasphemous,  though  terrible,  I  omit. 

Then  Captain  Brazenhead  dined  at  The  Pheasant 
so  sumptuously  and  well  that  he  made  one  of  the 
greatest  levies  of  his  life.  I  mean  when  he  appeared 
before  the  Consuls  of  Toulouse  in  full  conclave  and 
levied  ten  thousand  crowns  as  indemnity  for  the 
affront  put  upon  the  person  of  the  Viscount  Turenne's 
old  ally  Salomon  de  Picpus,  Count  of  Picpus  in 
Dauphin^.  He  did  this  single-handed,  save  for  the 
assistance  of  his  herald,  who  had  been  instructed  to 
blow  three  blasts  on  his  trumpet  whenever  he  saw  his 
master  pause  for  a  word.  The  long  sword  levied 
from  the  young  man  in  the  barber's  shop  was  of  great 
assistance;  it  looked  at  its  best  naked;  but  the  great- 
est ally  he  had  was  his  profound  experience  of  men. 
Upon  this  he  drew,  or,  rather,  built  until  he  himself 
was  astonished  at  the  edifice  he  reared,  and  steadied 
himself  with  a  "Gently  does  it — go  not  too  far, 
Brazenhead,  my  ancient."  The  caution  was  timely. 
To  pluck  the  Emperor  of  the  East  by  the  beard,  to 
kiss  his  daughter  under  an  apple-tree,  to  humiliate 
profoundly  his  eldest  son,  these  are  pleasant  and  cred- 
itable facts;  but  when  it  comes  to  excommunicating 
the  Pope  in  his  own  basilica,  or  twisting  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy  round  your  finger,  or  cutting  the  Consuls 
of  Toulouse  in  pieces  in  each  other's  presence,  dif- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  149 

ficulties  arise  which  can  only  be  solved  one  way: 
that  is,  by  performing  the  prodigies  you  boast  of. 

But,  after  all,  the  money  is  the  great  thing;  and 
Captain  Brazenhead  got  that,  had  it  brought  in,  in 
leather  sacks,  from  the  treasury,  counted  in  his  pres- 
ence and  bestowed  at  his  headquarters,  before  the 
sun  went  down  upon  his  wrath.  With  some  of  the 
ransom  he  gave  a  great  feast  to  the  civic  authorities, 
with  other  some  he  made  the  fountains  of  the  city 
run  white  wine  and  red,  and  lighted  a  bonfire  in 
the  Field  of  Arms.  He  bought  a  banner  with  his 
blazon,  he  repaired  his  wardrobe  and  provided  a 
horse,  and  then  upon  a  certain  day  in  June  he  set 
forth  for  his  affair  at  the  head  of  an  escort  of  five-and- 
thirty  scoundrels,  all  young,  all  greedy,  and  all  liars. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  BAREFOOT 

The  greatest  liar  then  in  France,  if  not  in  all  Chris- 
tendom, was,  no  doubt,  Captain  Brazenhead;  but  he 
had  occasion  to  distrust  his  distinction  when  he  fell 
in  with  Tristan  Paulet. 

The  manner  of  his  meeting  and  the  matter  of  his 
discourse  were  alike  romantic  and  extraordinary;  and 
romance  was  a  particular  foible  of  our  Captain's. 
There  are  some  whose  roving  eye  is  only  to  be  arrested 
by  distortion,  and  he  was  one.  If  a  lady  should  be 
partially  undressed  when  she  ought  to  be  dressed, 
clean  when  she  might  have  been  dirty,  dirty  when 
cleanliness  were  the  proper;  if  a  young  man  dis- 
tracted should  refuse  to  trim  his  nails,  hair,  or  be- 
haviour, should  decide  to  wear  no  stockings  or  three 
hats;  if  on  a  lonely  heath  he  should  come  upon  a 
damsel  wounded  in  the  side,  or  see  two  lovers  with 
bleeding  lips  kissing  in  the  snow — Captain  Brazen- 
head's  heart  beat  high,  and  he  was  the  utter  servant 
of  any  such  person  or  pair  of  persons  before  they  had 
time  or  need  to  invoke  his  chivalry.  There  were 
many  like  him,  and  have  been  many  since.  If  sin 
were  not  a  distortion,  vice  would  not  be  so  exceed- 
ingly romantic,  and  folks  would  sin  no  more.    Broad- 

150 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  151 

ly  speaking,  every  sinner  is  a  poet — but  I  have  no 
wish  to  enter  upon  a  discussion. 

Captain  Brazenhead  led  his  devoted  band,  as  his 
ardent  imagination  drew  him  instantly  to  believe  it, 
by  devious  ways  to  the  east,  since  he  wished,  very 
reasonably,  to  avoid  Agde  and  the  country  round 
about  it.  He  even  went  so  far  north  as  Albi,  by  the 
valley  of  the  Tarn,  continued  north-east  to  Saint- 
Affrique,  crossed  the  stony  hills  thereabouts,  reached 
Le  Vigan,  and  thence  had  the  full  intention  of  de- 
scending into  the  plain  by  Quissac,  of  fording  the 
Vidourle  at  Sommieres,  and  of  reaching  Aries  with- 
out adventuring  the  hospitalities  of  Nimes:  but  at  a 
little  town  called  Ganges  he  varied  his  plans,  for  there 
he  met  the  Young  Man  Barefoot. 

He  had  tempered  in  his  course  justice — or,  let  me 
say,  hunger — with  mercy,  had  put  no  man  to  the 
sword,  had  spared  the  fatherless  and  widows,  and 
had  levied  his  needs  only  from  the  exorbitantly  well- 
to-do.  He  had  threatened  to  hang  the  Abbot  of 
Saint-Beauzely,  but,  as  he  said  himself,  there's  pre- 
cisely a  rope's  difference  between  doing  and  promis- 
ing; and  the  Abbot,  who  was  homing  from  a  round 
of  his  granges,  could  well  afford  it.  It  was  the  dis- 
covery that  he  could  have  afforded  very  much  more 
which  annoyed  Captain  Brazenhead — or  the  Count 
of  Picpus,  as  he  must  now  be  called — and  caused  him 
to  be  truculent  in  his  first  dealings  with  the  Young 
Man  Barefoot,  when  he  saw  him  in  a  leafy  gorge, 
sitting  upon  a  rock  with  his  bare  feet  in  a  pool,  his 
bare  head  crowned  with  a  chaplet  of  faded  roses, 


152  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

a  lute  on  his  knee  and  a  wallet  by  his  side,  which  the 
Count  erroneously  supposed  to  hold  money. 

The  young  man,  who  was  of  pleasing  shape  and 
feature — elegant,  fair,  and  perfectly  beardless — like  a 
true  son  of  the  country  had  not  the  slightest  concern 
who  overheard  him  at  his  elegiacs,  or  who  might  see 
his  disordered  dress.  It  was  sufficient  for  him  that 
his  doings  were  a  solace;  and  that  ought,  he  would 
have  said,  to  be  sufficient  for  all  but  the  idle  imperti- 
nent. He  was  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  some 
bitter-sweet  lai  of  Provence;  every  now  and  again  he 
paused  and  plucked  a  chord  out  of  his  rote,  and  the 
consonance  thus  evoked  seemed  to  inspire  him;  for 
almost  at  once  he  began  another  stanza — evidently 
not  meditated  before,  and  never  faltered  either  in  the 
rhymes,  which  were  complicated,  or  in  the  diction, 
which  was  florid ;  but  rounded  off  his  stave  with  what 
seemed  to  his  fancy  a  perfect  line: 

Ah,  God,  I  part  from  Roesia! 

struck  another  chord,  and  began  anew  to  chase  for 
rhymes.  When  the  hunt  was  fairly  up,  trust  him 
to  find  them.    This  saved  his  life. 

The  Count  of  Picpus  had  halted  his  men  at  the 
head  of  the  gorge,  and  himself  had  taken  in  hand  the 
dealing  with  this  singular  young  man.  Soft-footed, 
very  like  a  cat,  he  had  crept  among  the  rocks  and 
bushwood  about  which  the  water  tumbled  and  swirled, 
until  now,  hidden  in  cistus  bushes,  his  drawn  sword 
shuddering  in  his  hand,  he  was  immediately  behind 
his  intended  victim.    He  had  been  contraried  by 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  153 

learning  of  the  deceit  of  the  Abbot  of  Saint-Beauzely, 
whereby  he  had  taken  silver  when  he  might  have  had 
gold,  and  was  determined  that  blood  must  flow. 
"He  shall  finish  the  verse,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
then  he  shall  be  cleft  to  the  navel,  by  Cock."  All 
unconscious,  an  innocent  and  male  Scheherazade, 
the  young  man  plucked  another  chord,  and  opened  a 
new  vista  of  rhymes  in  oesia.  "Proud  king  of 
Babylon,"  said  our  hero,  "is  it  possible  that  he  is 
again  working  toward  his  parting  with  Roesia? 
He'll  never  do  it."  But  he  did,  and  the  Captain 
waited  for  him.  Once  more  and  yet  once  more  he 
sprang  into  the  saddle  and  gave  the  rein  to  his 
Pegasus ;  once  more  and  yet  once  more  he  parted  per- 
fectly from  Roesia.  At  the  end  of  the  third  bout  his 
meditating  slayer  could  not  restrain  himself,  but 
cast  aside  his  sword,  uttering  a  great  cry,  and  throw- 
ing himself  beside  the  astonished  young  man,  em- 
braced him  warmly  and  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  him. 

The  singer  gently  released  himself.  "You  flatter 
me,  sir,  I  fancy,"  he  said,  "but  I  must  beg  you — in 
consequence  of  a  vow  I  have  made — to  let  me  alone 
with  my  misery." 

"And  what  is  your  vow,  what  is  your  misery,  O 
wonder  of  our  age  ?"  cried  the  Count  of  Picpus  with  a 
grim  but  friendly  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "I  tell  you, 
gentleman,  I  have  travelled  far  and  heard  good 
poetry.  I  have  been  in  Italy;  and  if  I  never  heard 
Dan  Petrarch,  I  have  wept  at  his  grave.  Singers  I 
have  heard  at  Avignon,  by  no  means  proper  men,  but 
the  sweeter-piped  for  that,  and  singers  in  Byzantium 


154  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

— large-eyed  and  full-throated  women,  all  at  the 
disposition  of  the  Emperor  of  those  parts.  They 
rhymed,  or  they  did  not,  as  suited  their  fancy,  and 
nobody  cared;  but  never,  since  Christ  was  king,  was 
there  rhyming  like  yours.  Will  you  tell  me,  for  ex- 
ample— I  am  myself  a  poet,  thinking  it  not  robbery 
of  my  countship — how  many  rh)mies  you  conceive 
there  to  be  to  Roesia?  .  .  .  Ha!  Roseial^' 

A  surprising  change  came  over  his  lordship's  face, 
which  was  as  if  the  sun,  though  shining  still,  had 
suddenly  turned  cruel-cold.  All  was  now  hard  that 
had  been  temperately  genial;  all  was  accentuated 
which  had  been  merely  a  pleasant  mottling.  Deep 
furrows  revealed  themselves  between  his  eyebrows, 
deep  scars  on  either  side  of  his  moustachios,  which 
climbed  and  tossed  up  their  tendrils  beyond  them  like 
bryony  over  a  crevice  in  the  rocks.  His  eyes  grew 
very  light,  and  the  pupils  of  them  focussed  down  to 
pin-points  of  intense  black.  Roesia  I  A  grim  sur- 
mise.   He  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"Is  it  possible — is  it  then  possible — ^that  your  be- 
rhymed Roesia  is  the  Lady  Roesia  Des-Baux,  upon 
whose  affairs  I  .  .  .  ?" 

The  young  man  coloured,  but  stiffened  neverthe- 
less at  the  neck. 

"It  is  not  only  possible,  it  is  certainly  the  case," 
he  said.     "But  why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  always  ask  a  man  for  the  facts  before  I  slay 
him,"  said  the  Count  of  Picpus,  and  bared  his  right 
arm  to  the  elbow.  The  young  man  regarded  his  feet 
in  the  water. 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  PICPUS  155 

"It  would  be  far  more  to  my  purpose  if  you  were  to 
cut  off  my  feet  instead  of  my  head — which  I  presume 
is  your  usual  practice,"  he  said.  "Of  what  good 
are  feet  to  me  when  every  function  of  theirs  is  to  take 
me  further  from  Roesia?  Whereas  with  my  head  I 
could  sigh,  weep,  make  verses,  divert  myself  and — 
as  it  seems — my  persecutors,  and  do  no  harm  to  any- 
body. But  upon  the  general  principle  I  should  wish 
to  know  how  you  can  conceive  an  enmity  for  a  man 
who  is  leaving  a  lady?  Had  I  been  meeting  her  I 
could  have  understood  it." 

"You  may  have  undone  her,"  said  the  Count,  bit- 
ing his  moustachios. 

"That,"  said  the  young  poet  in  reply,  "would  have 
been  against  the  rules  of  my  profession,  and  very  un- 
becoming in  me,  who  have  been  a  retainer  in  her 
guardian's  castle.  I  doubt,  too,  whether  she —  But 
a  truce  to  such  considerations.  Have  I  not  told  you 
that  we  have  parted?" 

"And  I,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "am  here  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  about  to  part  for  ever — by  means 
of  this  blade." 

"Our  love,"  said  the  young  man,  "was  madness, 
brief  and  glorious  as  it  was  mad.  We  met,  looked 
long  at  each  other,  we  trembled  and  were  mute  in 
each  other's  presence ;  we  were  alone  by  chance,  we 
drew  together,  we  touched,  we  fell  a-kissing.  And 
then  the  floodgates  of  the  tongue  were  loosed,  and  all 
heaven  might  have  wondered  at  the  praises  we  had 
for  one  another.  They  were  praises  such  as  in  those 
courts  are  reserved  for  the  Highest;  yet  they  were 


156  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

all  too  weak  to  satisfy  us.  I  became  as  one  upon 
whose  lips  has  lit  the  live  coal  spoken  of  by  the 
Prophet.  Never  was  such  poetry  as  mine  for  the 
most  glorious,  regal,  young  lady  that  ever  touched  this 
earth  with  her  foot,  pausing  upon  her  flight  to  the 
skies — and  liked  it  not,  and  sighed  and  soared  up- 
ward. This  continued  for  I  know  not  how  long — can 
a  man  cipher  when  he  is  in  love,  and  beloved?  Out 
upon  your  calculations !  We  met  before  dawn,  in  the 
breathless  noons,  after  dark — our  hearts  could  not 
beat  apart — we  lay,  I  suppose,  panting  for  mere 
breath  until  we  were  together.  I  forbear  to  tell  you 
of  our  bliss " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  his  intending  slayer. 
"You  have  a  pleasant  touch  upon  pleasant  things. 
I,  too,  have  been  in  bliss,"  and  here  he  sighed  and  bit 
his  nails. 

"We  became  overbold — our  need  was  so  imperi- 
ous that  we  could  not  help  ourselves.  We  were  sum- 
moned before  the  court  of  the  Green  Wood  upon  an 
indictment  for  Excessive  Comfort  in  Gallantry.  It 
was  said  that  since  the  greatest  glory  of  the  lover  is 
to  suffer  for  his  lady  I  was  clearly  a  defaulter,  seeing 
I  suffered  nothing,  but  was  as  happy  as  a  king  or 
a  shepherd.  I  defended  myself — I  think — strenu- 
ously and  well;  but  the  court's  mind  was  made  up, 
and  I  was  not  allowed  to  finish.  I  was  cast  in  dam- 
ages: I  was  to  serve  another  lady  for  three  years, 
while  my  adored  Roesia  was  to  choose  another  lover. 
I  was  contumacious,  I  refused  to  bow  to  the  court's 
ruling.    And  so  I  was  banished  with  all  the  formali- 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  157 

ties  usual  in  such  cases.  Suffer!  I  have  suffered 
now  as  damned  men  suffer.  Heat,  cold,  a  gnawed 
liver,  a  broken  heart,  a  brain  on  fire — oh,  soldier,  and 
you  propose  to  slay  me!  Why,  do  you  not  know  that 
by  such  an  act  you  would  waft  me  into  Paradise? 
For  say  that  you  soused  me  in  hell's  deeps,  by  so 
doing  you  would  be  ridding  me  of  the  ineffable  tor- 
tures in  which  I  writhe  now."  You  would  have  said 
that  the  speakers  had  changed  places  had  you  seen 
them.  The  young  man  was  in  command,  the  poet 
led  the  talk.  The  man  of  blood  wondered  at  him, 
his  sword  lifeless  in  his  hand. 

Having  conquered  his  emotion  by  apparently  swal- 
lowing it,  the  broken  lover  proceeded. 

"The  laws  of  Provence,"  he  said,  "vague  and  in- 
determinate as  they  are  in  most  of  the  regards  of  life, 
are  extremely  precise  upon  all  that  concerns  the 
tenderer  relations  of  the  sexes.  Here,  I  may  say, 
the  law  has  been  digested.  There  is  no  act  or  mo- 
tion, overt  or  implied,  from  a  sigh  at  eventime  to  a 
kiss,  from  a  clasp  of  the  hand  to  a  clipping  of  the 
loved  body,  for  which  due  provision  has  not  been 
made.  You  may  imagine,  therefore,  that  such  a 
tremendous  doom  as  that  of  ours  was  executed  to  the 
utmost  punctilio.  I  was  to  go  to  the  University  of 
Toulouse  to  study  jurisprudence;  and  she — the 
lovely  Roesia — must  accompany  me  a  full  half  of  the 
way.  Those  more  fortunate  lovers  who  remained  in 
the  court  of  good  King  Rend — for  our  tragedy  had 
been  enacted  there,  on  the  orchard-terraces,  under 
the  shaded  colonnades  of  Aix-en-Provence — were  to 


158  THE  COUNTESS  OP  FICPUS 

be  our  escort.  Our  brows  were  bound  with  myrtle, 
and  our  necks  linked — poor  prisoners! — with  chains 
of  anemones;  we  were  set  in  the  midst  of  the  bevy 
upon  white  mules  caparisoned  in  red;  and  whenever 
one  of  us  leaned  aside  to  kiss  the  other  one  of  the 
company  sang  a  lai.  Owing  to  this  laudable  custom 
it  fell  out  that  between  Aix  and  Beaucaire,  where  we 
were  torn  apart,  each  member  of  the  company  had 
sung  some  five  times." 

"And  was  the  company  a  large  one?"  the  Captain 
asked  him. 

"It  was  large,"  said  the  young  man;  "nearly  a 
hundred  pairs  of  lovers  must  have  been  there." 

"Then,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  after  a  rapid 
calculation  on  his  fingers,  "you  kissed  Dame  Roesia 
a  thousand  times." 

"That  is  exactly  true,  sir,"  he  replied.  "I  should 
have  kissed  her  more  freely,  if  there  had  been  time; 
but  the  intervals  were  fully  occupied." 

"  Mort-de-Dieu !  by  listening  to  the  lais?^* 

"No,  sir;  for  you  can  listen  to  poetry  and  kiss  at 
the  same  time.  They  were  occupied  by  her  kissing 
of  me." 

"I  admire!"  said  the  Captain.  "I  had  thought 
myself  a  good  blade.  But  you  are  my  equal.  Con- 
tinue." 

"Alas,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  with  tears  gather- 
ing fast  in  his  eyes,  "what  am  I  to  tell  you  now? 
Hard  by  Beaucaire,  where  the  final  separation  must 
take  place — a  ceremony  which  promised  to  be  of  the 
most  heart-piercing  you  can  conceive  of — our  gay 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  159 

company  of  lovers  was  confronted  by  the  bristling 
menace  of  war.  A  troop  of  grim  ruffians — going,  as 
it  seemed,  to  the  fair  of  Nimes,  but  as  apt  at  murder 
as  at  tumbling — called  us  a  halt.  They  were  numer- 
ous, but  so  were  we:  they  were  desperate  for  plunder, 
armed  with  bills,  scythes,  sickles,  clubs,  and  other 
tools  of  sharp  death — while  our  arms,  to  call  them 
so,  were  lutes  and  viols.  One,  the  ringleader,  sat 
squarely  upon  a  horse  and  called  us  to  halt.  I  should 
add  that  a  woman  of  the  horde,  one  of  many  drabs 
with  them,  but  the  comeliest,  though  unshod  and 
wounded  dreadfully  in  the  feet,  led  a  bear,  which, 
prodded  with  a  staff,  set  up  a  dismal  roaring,  and 
added  no  little  to  our  dismay." 

"Your  dismay,"  said  the  Captain,  "is  paltry  to  me. 
Proceed  with  the  material  parts  of  your  tale." 

"Our  dismay,"  rejoined  the  youth,  "was  most  ma- 
terial to  us;  but,  however,  our  names  and  conditions 
were  required  of  us — and  when  it  was  reported  to  the 
chief  of  these  cut-throats  that  the  Lady  Roesia  Des- 
Baux  was  of  our  party — and  easily  the  chief  of  it 
(for  all  that  a  king's  daughter  was  there — one  of  her 
honourable  women,  in  the  Psalmist's  phrase) — bills 
were  levelled,  bows  drawn  taut,  slaughter  whistled 
down  the  wind;  half  the  virgins  and  all  the  poets  of 
Provence  had  been  dismembered  or  worse,  had  not 
my  lovely  Roesia — oh.  Mother  of  God,  the  pious  act! 
— delivered  herself  as  a  hostage  to  the  chief  of  these 
pirates.  I  saw  her  turn  her  mule  to  face  with  his 
great  horse;  I  saw  him  lay  hand  upon  the  rein.  I 
cried,  I  raised  my  hands  to  Heaven,  I  fell  in  a  swoon. 


i6o  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

More  I  know  not,  save  that  if  I  do  not  weep  tears  of 
blood  it  is  because  the  well  of  my  blood  is  frozen  hard, 
and  I  sufifer  from  a  congestion." 

"And  who,  by  Cock,  was  this  pirate  who  dared  lay 
hands  upon  the  Lady  Roesia  Des-Baux,  with  whom 
only  I  have  to  deal?" 

"He  was  an  unwashed  vagabond,  I  assure  you,  for 
all  that  he  averred  himself  to  be  the  Count  of  Pic- 
pus,"  said  his  young  friend. 

The  Captain's  eyes  protruded  like  a  rabbit's. 

"Hein?    The  Count  of  Pic ?" 

" pus,"  said  the  young  man.    "A  pale  and 

circumspect  nobleman — if  indeed  a  nobleman — 
narrow-faced,  with  straight  hair,  tawdry  in  accoutre- 
ments, on  a  tall  though  meagre  Flemish  stallion. 
A  baton  in  his  right  hand,  a  notched  sword  without 
scabbard  at  his  thigh.  He  wore  a  spur,  and  by  his 
side  there  walked  that  fair  woman  I  told  you  of,  who 
led  the  bear,  and  was  unshod.  She  had  a  red  flower 
in  her  mouth.    A  buxom  woman,  with  a  shape " 

"Ha!"  cried  Captain  Brazenhead,  with  a  sound 
like  the  shock  of  water  on  a  cliff.  "Ha!"  and  his 
lower  jaw  fell  sideways,  and  his  head  seemed  to  fall 
after  it.  He  remained  staring  and  mumbling  for  a 
space  of  time;  and  then  stared  upward,  as  if  he 
would  rend  the  blue  veil  of  heaven.  "A  narrow- 
faced,  pale,  lank-haired  rogue — a-horseback,  on  a 
Flemish  horse!  Beside  him  a  fair  woman  with  a 
taking  shape,  ha !  Oh,  damned  villain !  Oh,  traitor! 
And  she  to  walk,  and  lead  a  bear,  and  he  to  ride — a 
red  flower  in  her  mouth,  ha!    Madame  de  Picpus, 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  i6i 

Nicole  la  Grace-de-Dieu,  by  God's  son!  And  Simon 
the  singing-man,  by  Cock  and  his  father!"  He  was 
livid  in  the  face,  his  eyes  all  white.  He  shut  his 
mouth  with  a  snap,  and  swallowed  a  meat-fly.  Then, 
after  a  moment  of  very  natural — if  bitter — reflection, 
he  lifted  his  hand,  pointed  his  fore-finger,  and  fixed 
the  Young  Man  Barefoot  with  his  humid  eyes,  while 
he  thus  addressed  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BRAZENHEAD   LOQ 

'*I  AM  the  true  Count  of  Picpus,  descended  from 
a  hundred  kings,  that  deeply- wronged  man  who 
addresses  thee  now,  boy,  and  swears  to  thee  by  the 
souls  of  the  Count  and  Countess  my  father  and 
mother,  and  by  those  of  all  the  kings  my  ancestors, 
that  by  no  means  blood  alone  can  avenge  the  offences 
put  upon  me  by  a  shaveling  out  of  the  choir.  Him 
I  have  nurtured  as  at  a  breast,  and  taught  the  art  of 
war;  him  I  have  dressed  and  undressed,  admitted  to 
my  familiarity  and  secret  designs;  I  have  saved  him 
from  divers  dangers — as,  when  he  was  like  to  be  a 
thief,  I  have  chastened  him  and  removed  temptation 
from  his  eyes;  and  when  I  found  him  strapped  and 
gagged  on  a  shelf,  whose  but  these  hands  untied  him, 
set  him  upon  a  horse  and  made  him  body-servant  to 
the  proudest  pair  in  France  ?  And  now,  O  listening 
Heaven,  that  he  should  steal  away  both  name  and 
mate!"  He  lifted  his  hands.  "O  Countess!  O 
Nicole  la  Grace- de-Dieu!  Partner  of  my  throne, 
sweet  my  bedfellow,  loveliest,  tenderest,  wisest  of  the 
fair  daughters  of  France,  where  and  whose  art  thou  ? 
Out  of  what  garden-ground  hast  thou  thy  emblem? 
Who  put  it,  blushing  for  pride,  between  thy  lips? 

162 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  163 

What  is  thy  condition — poor  barefoot  lamb,  that 
shouldst  ride,  spuming,  over  the  necks  of  such  as  this 
Muschamp  ?  Heart  of  mine,  hath  he  undone  thee  ? 
Gray  villain,  bleak-faced  fox,  thou  shalt  smart  for 
this!  Ah,  maw-worm,  ah,  louse  upon  the  Muse's 
locks " 

"I  gather,  sir,  from  your  distress,"  said  the  young 
man,  "that  some  pirate  has  debauched  your  lady." 

"That  is  the  truth  of  it,"  said  the  Captain.  "What 
next?"  Once  checked  in  his  eloquence,  he  was 
usually  attentive. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  am  reminded 
of  an  Italian  saw  which  it  may  comfort  you  to  re- 
hearse.   It  says: 

Bocca  baciata  non  perde  ventura; 
Anzi  rinnuova  come  fa  la  luna." 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  Captain,  "and  thank  you 
for  it.  It  says  that  there's  kissing  yet  in  a  kissed 
mouth — and  goes  further  and  deeper.  By  Cock,  and 
I  agree  with  the  Italian;  but  the  devil  is,  how  I  am 
to  put  that  to  the  proof." 

"We  must  find  your  lady,  my  lord." 

"Assuredly.  And  yours,  dear  sir.  They  are  now 
together." 

"Ah,"  said  the  young  man,  "my  case  is  worse  than 
yours,  as  you  can  see." 

"I'll  be  shortly  damned  if  I  can,"  quoth  the  Count 
of  Picpus. 

"You  have  reminiscences,  you  have  experi- 
ences  " 


l64  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

"We  all  have,"  said  the  Count. 

"Mine,"  replied  this  friend,  "are  not  worth  talking 
of.  What!  A  kiss  or  two  in  the  dark,  or  behind 
a  hedgerow!  A  touch  of  the  hand  under  a  cloak! 
Pooh,  my  lord — look  at  yours,  rather." 

The  Count  dreamed,  and  as  he  dreamed  his  chest 
swelled,  and  he  swept  his  moustachios  upward, 
making  fierce  attacks  upon  their  strength.  "She 
had  a  taking  shape,"  he  said  tenderly;  "I  saw  it  in  a 
moment,  as  she  handled  the  mop.  She  was  bound 
to  be  mine."  He  ruminated  for  a  little,  then  started 
to  his  feet  and  glared  up  and  down  the  ravine. 
"Come!"  he  said,  "let  us  find  our  wives." 

"Our  wives,  my  lord!"  cried  the  young  man. 

"You  shall  have  your  Roesia,  I  tell  you,"  said  the 
Count  of  Picpus.  "Your  news  of  this  day  is  worth 
a  hundred  Roesias.  Besides,  she  is  mine  to  give 
you,  as  I  will  tell  you  upon  the  road.  Come,  shall  I 
sing  you  a  song?  I,  too,  am  a  poet,  not  unremark- 
able in  a  host." 

As  he  sat  there  easily  on  the  rock,  roaring  his  piece, 
he  made  a  fine  figure  in  the  sun — a  figure  from  which 
the  golden  head  and  slim  shape  of  the  Young  Man 
Barefoot,  couched  at  his  feet,  by  no  means  detracted. 
His  head  was  erect,  one  elbow  crooked  so  that  the 
hand  might  grasp  at  his  hip ;  with  the  other  extended 
he  see-sawed  the  air  to  the  cadences  he  uttered. 
A  keen  light  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  his  strong  face 
glowed  and  shone.  He  was  not  ridiculous  because 
he  was  uplifted  and  furiously  in  earnest.  He  was 
triumphantly  lover  and  poet,  the  wings  of  his  spirit 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  165 

brushed  the  sublime.     And  thus  he  sang  or  bel- 
lowed: 

"Ye  nymphs  and  swains  of  Venus*  grove, 
Ye  vagabonds  of  Love! 
Oh,  may  the  myrtle  and  the  may, 
The  spurge,  the  laurel,  rose  and  bay 
Your  right  ascendance  prove!" 

The  young  man's  feats  with  rhymes  in  oesia  undid 
the  Captain,  who  plunged  on  thus: 

"Oh,  Love  above! 
Oh,  Death  beneath! 
Oh,  balmy  Dove! 
Oh,  poisonous  breath! 
By  song  to  prove 
The  matter  of 
My  heart's ." 

"Accursed  Death,  thou  hast  undone  me!"  he  said, 
and  bit  his  nails. 

There  had  been  enough  of  this  sort  to  cause  the 
listener  considerable  disturbance — so  much  so  that 
the  singer  perceived  it,  and  said  with  some  abrupt- 
ness: 

"  That  is  the  poet  I  am.  You  may  take  it  or  leave 
it." 

"Sir,"  said  the  Young  Man,  after  a  pause,  "you 
put  me  to  some  embarrassment.  If  I  take  it  I  play 
traitor  to  my  art;  if  I  leave  it  I  break  my  parole." 

Captain  the  Count  of  Picpus  said  that  he  hoped 
not. 


l66  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

"But  you  do,  sir,  you  do  indeed,"  replied  Tristan 
Paulet.  "Your  poetry — if  I  must  speak  plainly — 
seems  to  me  of  extreme  badness.  Indeed,  I  don't 
suppose  that  there  can  be  in  the  whole  world  a  worse 
poet  than  yourself — unless  it  be  in  Aix,  where  I  had 
to  endure  many  ignoble  rivalries." 

"I  fancy  that  you  are  near  the  mark,  my  young 
gentleman,"  said  his  lordship.  "I  cannot  myself 
believe  that  there  is  a  worse.  And  mind  you,  that's 
a  distinction.  There  is  nothing  mean  for  me.  I  am 
for  ever  in  extremis — the  best  if  I  can;  if  not,  then 
the  worst.  But  let  us  be  going;  if  I  am  a  bad  poet 
I  am  a  worse  enemy,  as  the  Singing-Man  shall  find. 
Oh,  dog  and  dog's  son — my  wife  and  my  county 
chained  to  his  wrist — and  he  as  happy  as  the  fleas 
in  your  bed!"  His  moustachios  bristled  like  teasels* 
heads.  He  rose  and  blew  a  blast  upon  his  horn 
which  caused  blood  to  flow  at  the  ears  of  the  Young 
Man  Barefoot. 

"My  rascaille  will  hear  and  obey,  you  will  find," 
said  he.  "They  know  that  signal."  The  Young 
Man  surmised  that  they  would  know  it  in  Paris. 


i 
CHAPTER  IX 

THE  GREAT  RECOVERY 

The  Captain-Count  moved  his  men  onward  in 
open  order,  in  the  direction  which  he  supposed  the 
traitor  Simon  to  have  taken,  which  must  needs  be 
due  south;  for  plunder  being  his  sole  object,  it  fol- 
lowed as  the  night  the  day  that  he  was  going  to  sell 
the  Lady  Roesia  to  the  Bishop  of  Agde  if  he  could, 
or  to  the  Viscount  of  Turenne  if  he  could  not.  But 
he  judged  that  he  would  first  try  the  Bishop,  being  a 
singing-man,  used  to  dealing  with  prelates. 

And  he  had  judged  well.  They  had  not  crossed 
two  ridges  of  hills  before  upon  the  third  he  spied  a 
caravan,  and  gave  a  great  shout,  and  spurred  for- 
ward. Here  his  better  feelings  prevailed  over  his 
better  judgment — for  that  shout  was  heard,  and  had 
immediate  effect  upon  the  decamping  army.  They 
were  seen  to  halt  upon  their  hill;  they  were  seen  to 
be  in  confusion ;  Simon  himself  was  seen  standing  up 
in  his  stirrups,  haranguing  his  fellow-thieves.  And 
women — harrowing  sight! — ^were  there:  one,  sitting, 
nourished  a  baby — ^two  lay  prone  and  slept,  one's 
head  upon  the  other's  shoulder.  And  with  tears  of 
blood  the  Captain  saw  one  sit  apart  beside  a  bear, 

167 


l68  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

and  lean  her  fair  head  upon  his  tousled  pelt,  as  if 
with  weariness  fordone. 

"Oh,  Saints  on  your  golden  thrones!"  he  groaned. 
"Send  me  there  quickly  with  a  sword  of  flame." 

Soon  there  was  a  hasty  resolution  taken  upon  that 
distant  hill,  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  advance  of  the 
rescuers.  The  horde  of  thieves  scattered  like  smoke 
among  the  cistus  and  box  bushes.  Scarcely  a  trace 
was  left  behind.  Yet  Tristan  declared  that  he  saw 
something  white  fluttering  there  by  a  slender  tree — 
fluttering  up  there  like  a  rag  blown  by  the  wind. 

He  saw  truly  and  well.  A  woman  was  bound, 
with  her  back  to  a  tree:  a  young  woman,  a  slim  young 
woman,  a  beautiful,  slim,  young  woman — ^her  head 
drooping  to  her  bosom,  her  face  hidden  by  shrouds 
of  dark  hair. 

Tristan,  crying  "Roesia!  my  Roesia!"  slipped  from 
the  Captain's  pillion  and  ran  up  the  hill,  shouting  at 
random  as  he  went,  "Roesia!  I  come.  Heart  of 
mine,  I  am  here.  I,  Tristan,  thy  lover,  am  here!" 
She  looked  up,  she  bent  her  head  sideways  to  see  him. 
In  a  moment  more  his  arms  were  aboiit  her,  his  lips 
had  found  hers,  and  were  well  advanced  in  their 
second  thousand  by  the  time  the  Captain-Count  of 
Picpus  could  see  what  he  was  about. 

He  was  touched,  while  he  could  not  approve. 
"  Pretty,  pretty — but  the  act  of  a  fool.  He  will  break 
her  arms  off  at  the  wrists."  Dismounting,  he  went 
forward,  drawing  a  long  knife  and  stepping  up  gin- 
gerly, tiptoe  like  a  trespasser — "By  your  leave, 
gentles,"  says  he,  and  cut  the  cords.    The  lovers  fell 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  169 

into  each  other's  arms;  the  soldiery  admired,  but  his 
lordship  turned  his  back  upon  a  happiness  too  great 
for  him  to  contemplate. 

He  called  his  troop  to  attention.  "Sirs,"  he  said, 
"I  have  a  deed  of  vengeance  to  perform,  and  shall 
perform  it  alone.  I  require  of  you  upon  your  faith 
and  fealty  to  remain  here  guarding  that  kissing 
couple.  My  intentions  in  their  regard  are  benevolent 
and  just — but  they  must  await  my  personal  needs. 
They  are  innocently  and  happily  engaged.  Let  no 
man  pry  upon  their  pleasures,  but  face  about,  the 
Company — face  due  north,  you  peering  scoundrels, 
and  the  man  who  looks  round  him  shall  be  even  as 
Lot's  lady  was  when  I  return,  for  by  Cock  I'll  carve 
a  pillow  out  of  him  with  this  blade,  which  hot  tears 
shall  salt!  Eyes  front!  About!  Turn!"  They 
turned  as  on  pivots,  and  the  Captain,  leaping  to  the 
saddle,  careered  across  the  hill-top. 

Like  a  setting-dog  he  hunted  across  and  across, 
descending  gradually  toward  the  valley,  where  a 
river  scurried  among  rocks  to  join  the  Rhone.  He 
found  lurking  scoundrels  without  number — hot- 
eyed,  peering,  scared  scoundrels — but  found  not 
Simon.  Women  also,  bedraggled  and  loose-shifted — 
but  not  the  lovely  Nicole.  And  so  at  last  he  came 
down  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  there  he  might 
easily  have  missed  him,  for  the  rocks  were  piled,  and 
densely  covered  with  scrub. 

But  a  resolute  pair  of  gray  eyes  saw  what  a  keen 
pair  of  pink  ears  had  heard,  and  Nicole  la  Grace-de- 
Dieu  in  the  nick  of  time  struck  the  brown  bear  with 


I70  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

her  staff  as  she  crouched  beside  her  sharp-set  t)n'ant. 
The  bear,  as  fire  had  taught  him,  set  up  his  watery 
roar,  and  Captain  Brazenhead,  with  a  "Ha,  Dieu!'* 
which  caused  Simon's  heart  to  stand  still,  turned  his 
horse  and  spurred  straight  as  a  die  to  the  covering 
rock.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment;  he  saw  his 
prey,  and  the  wind  whistled  shrill  through  his  teeth 
as  he  drew  it. 

"Oh,  Simon,  Simon,"  was  all  he  could  say.  "Oh, 
Simon,  Simon!  what  a  meeting  have  we  here!"  He 
advanced  lightly,  like  a  gallant  meeting  his  partner 
in  the  dance,  and  plucked  up  the  screaming  man  by 
the  ears  of  his  head.  Nicole,  meantime,  blushing 
very  charmingly,  did  her  best  with  the  rags  upon  her 
to  meet  her  true  love's  gaze. 

But  he  would  not  look  at  her  yet.  He  was  con- 
cerned with  the  wretch  whom  he  held. 

He  stopped  his  squealing  by  a  simple  means.  He 
stuffed  his  mouth  with  thistles  which  he  tore  from 
between  the  rocks.  Then  he  meditated  profoundly, 
holding  Simon  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other 
he  clasped  his  chin.  Never  a  word  spake  he,  never 
a  glance  gave  he  to  the  fair  woman;  he  thought  as 
never  before — and  presently  proceeded  to  action. 
His  prize  was  too  good  for  haste.  Yes,  yes — he  would 
save  up  Simon. 

With  the  bear's  chain  he  firmly  bound  his  victim, 
face  to  the  tail,  upon  the  beast's  broad  back.  Simon's 
feet  were  fettered  under  the  bear's  belly,  Simon's 
hands  were  bound  behind  his  own  back.  Then 
Captain  Brazenhead,  kneeling  on  one  knee,  raised 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  171 

the  stained  hand  of  Madame  de  Picpus  to  his  lips  and 
respectfully  kissed  it. 

"Madame  my  consort,"  he  said,  "your  tribulations 
are  over.  A  horse  stands  here  for  your  ladyship, 
when  your  ladyship  will  be  pleased  to  make  use  of  it." 

Nicole,  with  one  shamefaced  glance  at  her  tattered 
petticoat  and  wounded  feet,  rose.  Her  lord  lifted 
her  to  the  saddle,  and,  leading  the  bear  by  one  hand 
and  the  horse  by  the  other,  took  the  way  up  the  moun- 
tain. 

Amazement  sat  upon  the  proud  face  of  the  young 
Lady  Roesia,  confusion  upon  that  of  her  happy  lover, 
when  the  Captain-Count -presented  all  the  company 
to  his  lady  the  Countess.  He  did  it  with  a  superb 
ease  which  is  his  highest  praise.  "  Permit  me,  Ma- 
dame Roesia,  to  make  two  noble  ladies  acquainted. 
To  Madame  de  Picpus,  my  consort,  I  present  the 
young  Lady  Roesia  Des-Baux,  descended  from  one 
of  the  holy  kings  of  Cologne — the  most  remarkable 
of  them."  Madame  Roesia  lifted  her  head,  Ma- 
dame Nicole  hung  hers,  but  the  Captain-Count  flicked 
up  his  moustachios  in  quick  succession  till  they 
soared  above  his  eyebrows  like  poplars  on  a  river- 
bank. 

To  the  young  man  Tristan,  still  barefoot,  he  used 
a  somewhat  severer  tone.  "Colleague,"  said  he, 
"fellow  journe)nnan  upon  the  Parnassian  uplands, 
your  services  to  me  have  been  many  and  great,  but 
the  honour  of  my  consort  demands  full  measure  from 
you.  And  whereas  in  giving  me  news  of  her  radiant 
appearance  in  a  horde  of  hedge-thieves — in  which 


172  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS 

company  she,  being  the  fairest  of  women,  must  needs 
have  gleamed  like  a  diamond  in  a  midden — you  did, 
without  the  fear  of  God,  speak  of  her  in  common  with 
all  the  women  of  that  crew  as  'drab' — a  thing  most 
hateful  to  me  and  lacerating  to  her  honour — I  now 
require  you,  bareheaded,  to  approach  her  ladyship 
and  kiss  her  glorious  knee,  asking  pardon  upon  your 
own  pair  for  so  detestable  a  fact.  Come  now, 
brother,  play  the  man  without  ceasing  to  be  poet." 

A  convulsive  movement  of  the  fair  Nicole's  be- 
trayed her  anxiety  to  cover  her  bruised  knee  before 
the  ceremony  might  be  done.  But  the  alacrity  of  the 
young  man  prevented  her.  He  kissed  her  uncovered 
knee,  and  upon  his  own  implored  her  pardon,  so 
justly,  eloquently,  and  well  that  Captain  Salomon  em- 
braced him  warmly  and  vowed  they  should  com- 
mingle blood  before  the  sun  set  that  day.  And  no 
doubt  they  did. 

He  then  announced  his  settled  intentions  for  the 
future.  "Madame,"  he  said  to  Dame  Roesia  Des- 
Baux,  "I  shall  not  conceal  from  your  ladyship  that 
my  intentions  with  regard  to  yourself  have  varied 
from  time  to  time.  If  I  spare  my  blushes  by  not 
telling  you  of  them,  it  is  only,  believe  me,  because 
they  are  now  irrevocably  fixed  in  your  service.  It 
is  my^intention  to  take  you  to  your  seigniory  of  Les- 
Baux,  and  it  is  my  intention  to  hold  your  castle  and 
town  in  your  behalf;  but  it  is  not  my  intention  to  allow 
entry  to  the  Viscount  of  Turenne,  my  late  patron,  nor 
to  the  reverend  Bishop  of  Agde,  my  former  patron — 
for  reasons  which  it  would  not  become  me  to  discuss. 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  PICPUS  173 

I  hold  your  good  town  for  you,  lady,  upon  two  condi- 
tions. The  first  is  that  you  lead  to  the  altar  this 
gifted  young  man,  by  whose  aid  I  have  recovered  my 
wife  and  my  enemy;  and  the  second  is  that  my  lovely 
consort  be  made  the  mistress  of  your  robes,  and  chief 
woman  about  your  person." 

These  things  being  agreed  to,  the  Count  of  Picpus 
sounded  the  advance;  and  when  late  that  evening 
they  halted  in  an  abbey  called  Saint-Raimbaud-des- 
Mortadelles,  and  our  hero  held  his  fair  Nicole  in  his 
arms,  he  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction  and  to  mine 
that  Boccaccio  was  perfectly  right. 

Of  the  ultimate  fate  of  Simon  and  the  brown  bear; 
of  Pym,  and  his  eye,  and  his  Bishop  of  Agde;  of  the 
three  Counts  of  Picpus  and  the  unheard-of  contest 
between  them;  and  lastly  of  Lambert  Paradol,  of 
Castel  Jaloux  in  Gascony,  the  only  man  to  whom 
Captain  Brazenhead  ever  bent  the  knee,  the  tale 
would  be  long,  even  if  I  knew  all  of  it. 


BOOK  III 
THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT* 


^  This  Saga  has  akeady  been  published  in  a  volume  entitled  "  Fond 
Adventures,"  but  is  reproduced  here  for  the  convenience  of  the  student, 
and  by  agreement  with  Messrs.  Harper  and  Brothers. 

175 


CHAPTER  I 

HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  WON  A  RECRUIT 

Pilgrimage  to  Canterbury  and  Saint  Thomas  of 
Canterbury,  which  is  in  some  a  piety,  in  some  a 
courteous  act,  for  some  salvation,  for  some  a  frolic, 
in  others  may  very  well  be  the  covering  of  statecraft, 
of  policy,  of  deep  design.  So  it  was  with  Captain 
Brazaihead  in  the  month  of  May  and  year  of  our 
Lord  God  fourteen  hundred  and  fifty.  With  him, 
"late  of  Burgundy,  formerly  of  Milan" — a  lean  man 
of  six  feet  two  inches,  of  inordinate  thirst,  of  two 
scars  on  his  face,  a  notched  fore-finger,  a  majestic 
nose,  of  a  long  sword,  two  daggers,  and  a  stolen 
horse,  of  experience  in  divers  kinds  of  villainy,  yet  of 
simple  tastes — ^with  this  free  routier,  I  allow,  pil- 
grimage was  certainly  a  cloak  of  dissembling,  while 
none  the  less  a  congenial  and  (as  he  would  have  been 
the  first  to  admit)  wholesome  exercise.  If  he  had 
served  too  long  in  Italy  not  to  love  conspiracy,  he  had 
not  been  to  Compostella  and  Jerusalem  for  nothing. 
Indeed,  he  had  skirted  in  his  time  too  close  to  the 
rocks  of  Death  not  to  respect  those  who  (for  honour- 
able reasons)  had  cast  themselves  upon  them.  There- 
fore he  was  by  no  means  without  devotion  in  seeking 
the  Head  of  Thomas  and  the  Golden  Shrine,  for  all 

177 


178  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

that  he  had  business,  and  high  business,  on  the  road. 
For  firstly,  in  this  reign  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth,  he 
was  a  Duke  of  York's  man,  a  White  Rose  man. 
Secondly,  he  was  one  of  those  who  had  swom  to  have 
Jack  Nape's  head  on  a  charger.*  Lastly  he  was 
bosom-friend  of  another  Jack,  whom  he  hoped  to  meet 
in  Kent;  I  mean  Jack  Mend-all.  Jack  Cade,  Jack 
Mortimer — call  him  as  you  will — that  promising 
young  man,  who  promised  himself  a  kingdom  and 
Englishmen  a  charter,  who  actually  fought  a  battle 
on  Blackheath,  held  London  Bridge  against  the 
Mayor,  Aldermen,  and  Citizens,  and  hanged  Lord 
Say  upon  one  of  his  own  trees.  From  this  practical 
statesman  our  Captain  had  received  a  roving  com- 
mission to  be  his  Vox  Clamantis:  he  was  to  trumpet 
revolution  along  the  Pilgrims'  Way.  This  road  was 
the  most  travelled  in  the  realm;  it  led  all  men  into 
Kent — Captain  Cade's  country;  it  could  be  safely 
used:  with  cockleshells  and  staves  enough  it  could 
screen  an  army.  Pilgrim  only  by  the  way,  therefore, 
was  Captain  Brazenhead,  sometime  of  Milan,  late 
of  Burgundy,  now  Deputy-Constable  of  all  England 
under  Letters  Patent  of  the  Captain  of  Kent. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  leanness,  of  his  inches,  of  his 
thirst.  It  must  be  added  of  him  that  he  was  plenti- 
fully forested  with  hair,  which  drooped  like  ivy  from 
the  pent  of  his  brows,  leaped  fiercely  up  from  his  lip 
to  meet  the  falling  tide;  gave  him  a  forked  beard; 
crept  upward  from   his   chest  to  the  light  at   his 

'Jack  Nape  was  Delapole,  Duke  of  Suffolk,  the  best-hated  man  of 
his  day,  and  no  worse  served  than  he  deserved. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  179 

throat ;  had  invaded  his  very  ears,  and  made  his  nos- 
trils good  cover  for  dormice  in  the  winter.  I  might 
sing  of  this,  or  of  his  eloquent  eyes :  I  prefer  a  paean 
on  his  nose.  Captain  Brazenhead  had  a  nose — ^but 
an  heroic  nose,  a  trumpet,  an  ensign  built  on  imperial 
lines;  broad-rooted,  full  of  gristle,  ridged  with  sharp 
bone,  abounding  in  callus,  tapering  exquisitely  to  a 
point,  very  flexible  and  quick.  With  this  weapon  of 
offence  or  defiance  he  could  sneer  you  from  man- 
hood's portly  presence  to  a  line  of  shame,  with  it 
comb  his  moustachios.  When  he  was  deferential  it 
kissed  his  lip;  combative,  it  cocked  his  hat.  It  was  a 
nose  one  could  pet  with  some  pretence;  scratched,  it 
was  set  on  fire,  you  could  see  it  smouldering  in  the 
dusk.  Into  the  vexed  debate,  whether  great  noses 
are  invariable  with  great  men,  I  shall  not  enter. 
Captain  Brazenhead  was  great,  and  he  had  a  great 
nose ;  let  this  instance  go  to  swell  the  argument.  This 
fine,  tall,  hairy  man  rode  directly  to  Winchester  from 
Southampton,  his  port  of  debarkation,  entered  the 
city  by  the  West  Gate,  and  stabled  his  horse  at  the 
George,  which  was  then  the  principal  inn.  This 
done,  he  sent  the  ostler  for  a  gallon  of  beer,  and  in  his 
absence  inspected  with  great  care  all  the  animals 
tethered  in  the  yard.  It  was  his  intention  to  make 
sure  of  a  good  one  for  the  morrow,  seeing  that  his 
own — if  a  spavined  makeshift  levied  from  an  East- 
leigh  smithy  can  so  be  called — did  not  please  him  at 
all.  He  chose  a  handsome  round-barrelled  roan, 
rising  not  more  than  seven,  and  did  not  trouble  to 
change  the  furniture  further  than  to  add  his  pack  to 


l8o  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

those  already  on  the  saddle.  He  was  then  quite 
ready  to  drink  his  liquor  turn  and  turn  about  with 
the  ostler  and  two  Grey  Friars  whom  he  found  in  a 
sunny  comer — for  the  Captain  was  a  large-hearted 
man.  He  captivated  whatever  company  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in;  this  was  his  weakness,  and  he  knew 
it.  So  now,  with  scarcely  a  word  said,  he  persuaded 
those  two  friars  that  they  had  not  seen  what  they  had 
watched  with  some  interest  a  few  minutes  before: 
he  convinced  the  ostler  that  the  horse  he  now  saw 
and  admired  was  the  very  horse  he  had  despised 
when  he  came  stiffly  into  the  yard.  Admirable  man ! 
he  set  his  steel  bonnet  at  a  rake  over  one  eye,  chewed 
a  straw,  and  cocked  his  sword-point  to  the  angle  of  a 
wren's  tail.  These  things  nicely  adjusted,  his  mind 
at  ease,  full  of  the  adventurous  sense  of  strange  airs 
and  hidden  surprises  waiting  for  him  behind  strange 
walls,  he  walked  abroad  into  Chepe,  intending  to 
pay  his  devotions  to  the  Shrine  of  Saint  Swithin,  that 
(by  these  means)  a  good  ending  might  follow  so  good 
a  beginning;  for,  as  he  had  said  more  than  once,  hon- 
our is  due  to  a  dead  gentleman  from  living  gentlemen. 
"If  I  go,"  he  would  protest,  "into  such  an  one's  good 
town  and  bend  not  my  knee  in  his  audience-chamber, 
I  shame  my  nobility  by  flouting  his.  So  it  is  pre- 
cisely when  I  visit  a  cathedral  city,  whereover  is  set 
enshrined  some  ancient  deceased  man  of  God.  That 
worthy  wears  a  crown  in  heaven  which  it  becomes 
me  to  acknowledge  whiles  I  am  yet  upon  the  earth. 
And  so  I  do,  by  Cock!" 
With  these  and  other  like  reflections  he  passed 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  i8i 

by  the  Pilgrims'  Gate,  where  the  meaner  sort  of 
worshippers — pitiful,  broken  *  knaves,  ambushmen, 
sheep-stealers,  old  battered  soldiers,  witches,  torn 
wives,  and  drabs — stand  at  the  shining  bars,  their 
hands  thrust  in  toward  the  Golden  Feretory,  and 
whine  their  petitions  to  the  good  saint's  dust;  and 
entered  by  the  west  door,  with  much  ceremony  of 
bowing  and  dropping  to  the  knee,  and  a  very  courtly 
sharing  of  his  finger-load  of  holy  water  with  a  bur- 
gess's wife,  who  was  quite  as  handsome  as  one  of  her 
condition  had  need  to  be.  Within  the  church  he 
paused  to  look  about  him,  but  not  to  admire  the 
shrine,  the  fine  painting,  the  gold  work  and  lamp 
work  with  which  it  abounded.  He  knew  churches 
well  enough;  business  was  business,  that  of  Master 
Mortimer  crying  business,  that  of  Captain  Brazen- 
head  fisherman's  business.  Rather,  he  cast  a  shrewd 
eye  at  the  haunters  of  the  nave,  passing  over  the 
women,  the  apprentices,  all  the  friars.  He  feaw  three 
or  four  likely  blades  playing  with  a  dice-box  in  a  cor- 
ner, and  gained  one  of  them  by  a  lucky  throw.  He 
picked  up  a  Breton  pedlar  at  his  prayers,  also  a  ship- 
man  from  Goole,  who  had  been  twice  hanged  for 
piracy  and  twice  cut  down  alive — "Three's  the  num- 
ber for  you.  Lucky  Tom,"  he  told  him  by  way  of  en- 
couragement. In  the  Chapel  of  the  Sepulchre  he 
found  an  old  friend,  Stephen  Blackbush,  of  Alder- 
mary-Church,now  in  hiding  for  coin-clipping,  claimed 
him,  insisted  on  having  him,  and  got  his  way.  All 
this  was  very  well  indeed,  yet  the  Captain  sighed  for 
more.    "I  have  here  so  much  mass,"  he  told  himself, 


i82  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

"so  much  brawn;  now  Mortimer  needs  brain.  This 
rascaille  would  as  lieve  be  under  the  bed  as  in  it  any 
day,  and  not  one  of  it  worth  a  pinch  of  salt  to  the 
pudding  we  have  in  the  pot.  Give  me  a  stripling  of 
wit,  kind  Heaven,  to  outbalance  all  this  dead  meat." 
Scanning  the  company  as  he  turned  over  these  reflec- 
tions and  framed  these  prayers,  he  came  plump  upon 
the  very  thing — came,  saw,  conquered,  as  you  are  to 
leam. 

This  was  a  slim,  tall,  gracefully  made  youth,  very 
pretty,  who  in  a  pale  oval  face  had  a  pair  of  hot,  small 
greenish  eyes,  a  long  nose,  a  little  mouth  like  a  rose- 
bud, and  a  sharp  chin  dimpled;  who  wore  his  brown 
hair  smooth  and  cropped  short,  and  had  the  shape 
and  tender  look  of  the  God's  self  of  love,  as  you  or  I 
might  have  seen  the  boy.  This  young  man,  whose 
name  was  Percival  Perceforest,  was  a  scholar  in  his 
way,  well  versed  in  the  books  of  Ovid,  the  De  Remedio, 
and  other  like  works;  knowing  a  great  part  of  the 
Romaunt  de  la  Rose  by  rote,  and  also  the  Songs  of 
Horace.  These  he  was  accustomed  to  cite  colloqui- 
ally, as  a  priest  his  psalter.  He  would  speak  of  the 
Vitas  hinnuleo,  the  Integer  vitce^  or  the  Solvitur,  where 
the  clerk  would  have  his  In  Exitu  Israel  or  Notus  in 
Judcea.  Not  that  he  had  not  these  also  pat  upon  the 
tongue:  afterward  it  came  out  that,  bred  for  the 
Church,  he  was  actually  in  minor  orders.  Now,  with 
all  these  advantages  of  person  and  training,  it  is  a 
very  strange  thing  that  he  should  have  been  found 
by  Captain  Brazenhead  leaning  against  a  pillar  of 
the  nave,  crying  upon  the  cuff  of  his  jacket.    Yet 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  183 

it  was  so.  Round  about  him  stood  unwholesome, 
too-ready  sympathisers,  women  of  the  town,  har- 
pies; hardfavoured,  straddling,  boldbrowed  hussies, 
whose  gain  is  our  loss.  A  short-faced,  plainish  man 
stood  there  too,  respectably  dressed,  who  tried  to  cope, 
but  failed  to  cope,  with  two  things  at  once.  To  the 
women  he  was  heard  to  say,  "  Begone,  shameless  bag- 
gages, tempt  not  the  afflicted";  which  made  them 
laugh  and  hit  each  other  in  their  mirth.  The  weeper 
he  urged  with  a  "  God  help  thee,  youth,  and  expound 
thy  misfortunes  to  me,  if  thou  canst  not!"  But  the 
name  of  God  caused  the  young  man  to  blubber  the 
more.  Captain  Brazenhead  took  a  shorter  way. 
He  smartly  touched  his  man  on  the  shoulder,  calling 
him  his  bawcock,  his  nip  and  frizzle,  his  eye  and  his 
minion ;  at  the  women  he  flung  up  his  hands  with  a 
rush,  as  one  starts  a  greyhound.  "Off,  detriments!" 
he  cried  tremendously;  and  they  slunk  or  swaggered 
away  with  very  injurious  but  muttered  expressions 
to  the  effect  that  they  were  not  going  to  do  for  such  an 
old  piece  what  they  actually  were  doing  as  they 
spoke.  "Now,  good  Master  Burgess,"  said  the 
Captain  to  the  respectable  man  (whom  he  had  placed 
at  once),  "and  now  young  Niobus,"  to  the  lad,  "we 
will  accommodate  these  waterworks,  if  it  suit  you. 
Follow  me."  He  laid  a  hacked  finger  to  his  nose, 
and  scowled  upon  the  couple  with  so  much  hopeful 
mystery,  such  commanding  confidence,  such  an  air 
of  give-and-take-and-be-damned,  that  follow  him  they 
did;  the  merchant  as  one  who  says  "Well,  well, 
since  your  humour  is  so,"  and  the  other  with  sub- 


l84  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

dued  sniffs.  But  the  merchant,  as  having  a  solid 
foundation  upon  this  earth,  trampled  stoutly,  with 
a  smack  of  the  shoes  upon  the  pavement,  while  Perci- 
val  Perceforest  went  a-tiptoe.  It  is  proper  to  add 
that  this  latter  was  dressed  in  a  tight  jerkin  of  green 
velvet,  rather  soiled,  frayed  at  the  edges,  wanting  a 
button  or  two  at  the  bosom;  that  he  wore  scarlet 
stockings,  darned  in  places  and  not  darned  in  other 
places;  that  his  shoes  were  down  at  heel,  the  feather 
in  his  red  cap  broken-backed ;  that  he  looked  rumpled 
but  innocent,  unfortunate  rather  than  debauched,  as 
if  he  had  slept  out  for  a  night  or  two — ^which  was  pre- 
cisely the  fact. 

The  Captain,  deep  in  the  delights  of  mystery,  con- 
ducted his  initiates  to  the  stone  ledge  which  ran  along 
the  new  chantry  of  Bishop  Wykeham.  Here  he  sat 
down,  and  courteously  invited  the  merchant  to  a 
place  at  his  right  hand.  This  being  declined  with  a 
"Sir,  I  thank  you," — "Two  feet  for  ever!"  said  the 
Captain  heartily,  and  nodded  Percival  Perceforest 
to  the  place  at  his  left  hand.  Percival  meekly  took  it. 
"Pretty  lamb!"  said  this  fatherly  Captain,  and  put  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

Undoubtedly  Captain  Brazenhead  had  a  notable 
manner;  endearment  and  command  coincided  in  his 
tones;  he  seemed  to  be  pursuing  his  own  generous 
way  when  really  he  was  hunting  yours.  He  suc- 
ceeded with  Percival  to  the  point  of  marvel. 

"Name,  my  suckling?"  he  asks,  and  is  answered, 
"Percival  Perceforest,  sir." 

"  Could  not  be  better,  indeed.  Your  age,  Percival  ?*' 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  185 

"Of  nineteen  years,  sir."  The  Captain  smacked 
his  leg. 

"I  knew  it;  I  was  certain  of  it!"  he  cried  with 
delight,  then  sobered  for  a  moment  to  ask: 

"Now  have  you,  Percival,  in  all  your  nineteen 
years  of  travail  in  this  old  round,  ever  let  so  much 
water  from  your  eyes  as  on  this  day?" 

"No,  no,  indeed,  sir.  There  has  been  no  such 
occasion,"  says  Percival,  and  breaks  out  sobbing  like 
a  drawpipe.  The  Captain  thumped  him  on  the 
back.  "No  more  o'  this.  Back  to  your  kennel, 
tears!    Down,  ramping  waters,  waste  my  cheeks  no 

more!    Madness  of  moons "    Percival  thought 

it  right  to  explain.  He  looked  up  with  all  the  proper 
pride  of  grief  in  his  hot  eyes. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "I  would  have  you  understand, if 
you  please,  that  I  am  the  most  wretched  young  man 
in  all  England." 

"Stuff!"  says  the  merchant  testily;  "windy  talk!" 

"By  Cock,  not  at  all,"  broke  in  the  Captain,  "but 
sound  and  biting  truth,  as  I  can  tell.  I  know  some- 
thing of  wretchedness,  let  me  assure  you,  Scrivener" 
— the  merchant  started — "ah,  and  of  English  wretch- 
edness too,  since  I  myself  have  seen  the  top  of  a 
handsome  nobleman  lying  two  yards  away  from  his 
trunk,  and  his  pious  lady  pondering  which  morsel 
she  should  first  embrace — a  pitiful  sight,  I  hope. 
And  in  Lombardy,  you  must  know,  they  sow  the 
fields  with  men's  head-pieces,  and  thereby  breed 
dragons,  as  Cadman  also  did  in  the  tillage  and  com- 
mon fields  about  Thebes.    Sir,  sir,  this  lad  is  in  an 


X86  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

agony,  if  I  have  ever  known  agony.  Now,  I  will  lay 
a  thousand  marks  to  your  ink-bottle  that  I  can  place 
a  finger  on  the  nut  of  his  grief."  The  Captain  spoke 
so  heatedly  that  Percival  was  minded  to  soothe  him. 

"It  is  too  deep-rooted,  dear  sir,"  he  said. 

"I  prick  deep,"  replied  the  Captain,  and  raised  a 
finger.  "Now  mark  me,  boy.  You,  in  the  first 
delicious  flush  of  manly  love,  have  been  torn  from 
your  bosom's  queen." 

"Oh,  sir!"  says  Percival,  gasping. 

"And  she  is  of  high  degree." 

"Oh,  sir!" 

"And  she  is  here  in  this  city  of  Winton — and  you 
have  tramped  in  her  steps — and  slept  under  hedges, 
and  in  the  skirts  of  brakes, — and  seen  her — and  by 
her  been  seen — and  yet  you  cannot  get  at  her — hey?" 

"Oh,  sir!"  cried  Percival,  showing  the  whites  of 
his  eyes,  "oh,  sir,  what  magic  do  you  use?"  The 
Captain  held  out  his  hand  for  the  other  to  kiss. 

"My  magic  is  the  magic  of  that  glowing  old  puddle 
of  blood,  my  heart,"  says  this  triumphant  man. 
"What  difficulty  had  I?  What  does  youth  cry  for? 
Why,  youth  again.  But  you  tell  me  much  more  than 
such  a,  b,  c.  Your  jacket"  (he  fingered  the  sleeve) 
"was  good  Genoa  velvet  once;  and  is  not  green  her 
livery?  The  sun  hath  printed  the  badge  in  your 
cap  and  defies  your  busy  fingers:  do  you  bear  arms 
in  your  own  right  ?  "  He  snapped  his  fingers.  * '  You 
have  played  with  your  master's  daughter,  page-boy." 
Percival  hung  his  head. 

The  Captain  reassured  him.    "Oh,  you  have  not 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  187 

gone  too  far.  The  velvet  tells  me  another  tale,  my 
friend.  The  pile  lies  down  along  this  line,  and  this 
line,  and  this  line" — he  drew  his  finger  down  Per- 
civaPs  back.  "I  think  your  master's  stafif  has  been 
at  work  here,  therefore  it  was  no  case  for  the  hemp- 
collar.  And  he  sent  you  packing,  I  see.  The  white 
dust  of  Wilts  cries  from  those  shoes;  and  here,  as  I 
live  by  bread,  is  some  Hampshire  hay  to  tell  me 
where  your  bed  was  made  last  night."  He  pulled  a 
long  stalk  from  Percival's  trunks  and  tasted  it. 
"Whitchurch  hay?"  he  asked. 

Percival  replied,  "No,  sir,  Somboum." 

"Ah,"  says  the  Captain,  "I  knew  it  was  grown  on 
the  western  side  of  the  shire.  My  palate  is  out  of 
order.    Where  does  your  master  live,  then?" 

"At  Bemerton,  sir,  in  Wilts." 

"I  know  the  place."  He  considered  it,  gently  rub- 
bing his  nose.  "Good  pasture  lands  about  Avon* 
My  Lord  Moleyns  owns  the  fee;  but  yours  was  not 
his  badge.  Would  it  be — ^no?  Never  old  Touchett 
— ^Angry  Touchett,  as  we  called  him  in  the  old  days." 

"Sir  Simon  Touchett  is  his  name,  sir,"  says  Perci- 
val. The  Captain  snapped  his  fingers  and  looked 
blandly  at  the  merchant. 

"  Do  I  prick  deep,  scrivener  ?  Now  then,  to  it  once 
more.  Angry  Touchett  hath  a  pretty  daughter,  hey  ?  " 

"He  hath  four,"  says  Percival.  The  merchant 
sniggered,  and  the  Captain  tapped  his  teeth,  then 
jumped  up  with  a  snort,  pulling  Percival  after  him. 
"Boy,"  he  cried,  venturing  his  all  on  the  main,  "you 
love  the  second  daughter  of  Angry  Touchett." 


l88  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

He  deserved  to  win.  Percival  opened  his  mouth, 
words  failing  him.  The  merchant  said  "Tush!" 
and  walked  away;  and  Captain  Brazenhead  clasped 
the  youth  in  his  arms.  You  may  be  quite  easy  in 
your  mind  as  to  whether  or  no  the  whole  story  was 
poured  out  unreservedly. 

True  it  was,  according  to  his  own  tale,  that  Per- 
cival Perceforest,  foot-page  to  Sir  Simon  Touchett, 
Knight,  had  loved  his  master's  second  daughter, 
Mistress  Mawdleyn.  Certain  familiarities  growing 
unawares,  and  growing  dearer  by  use ;  certain  inno- 
cent natural  testimonies  given  and  received;  certain 
pledges  scrupulously  observed,  were  followed  by 
certain  unmistakable  tokens.  It  was  all  very  inno- 
cent and  passably  foolish — a  boy-and-girl,  kiss-in-the- 
dark,  dream  o'  nights  affair;  but  Angry  Touchett  had 
beaten  his  daughter  and  trounced  his  page.  He  had 
packed  the  girl  off  to  her  aunt,  the  Prioress  of 
Ambresbury,  and  Percival  to  the  devil,  whom  he  con- 
ceived to  be  his  natural  father.  Poor  Percival,  de- 
plorably in  earnest  over  his  love-making,  had  skulked 
about  the  shaws  and  osier-brakes  of  Bemerton, 
trudged  to  Ambresbury  over  the  downs,  and  learned 
the  news  there — all  as  much  to  the  detriment  of  his 
spirits  as  of  his  trim  adornment.  The  news  being 
that  the  Prioress  would  take  her  niece  on  pilgrimage 
to  Canterbury,  Percival,  too,  felt  the  call  of  Saint 
Thomas:  he  followed,  taking  the  hospitalities  that 
offered  on  the  road.  He  saw  the  entry  of  Mawdleyn 
into  Winchester  with  the  Ambresbury  retinue;  saw 
her  lodged  in  the  stately  Abbey  of  Hyde  beyond  the 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  189 

North  Gate.  He  had  seen  and  been  seen,  and  this 
mutual  grief  had  been  too  many  for  him.  He  had 
opened  the  brimming  sluices  of  his  heart;  he  was 
tired,  sick,  longing,  footsore,  heartsore,  desperate, 
young.  Tears  had  done  him  good,  but  the  Captain 
did  him  more. 

When  he  had  the  whole  story  out,  "Now,"  said  this 
intrepid  man,  "you  and  I,  Percival,  are  in  the  fair  way 
of  a  classic  friendship,  as  I  see  very  well.  What! 
We  have  mingled  tears" — this  was  true;  "confidences 
have  passed" — they  had,  but  all  one  way;  "we  have 
looked  each  into  the  heart  of  the  other!  You  shall  be 
Patrocle  to  a  new  Achilles,  Harmonium  to  Aristo- 
geiton.  Or  let  me  stand  for  Theseus,  Duke  of 
Athens,  you  shall  be  that  nobleman,  whose  name  is  on 
the  tip  of  my  tongue,  who  was  followed  by  his  loving 
attentions  to  the  gates  of  Hell  Town.  Now,  just  as 
Achilles  was  kindled  by  the  sparks  beaten  from  the 
heart  of  Patrocle,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  so  shall  I 
most  reasonably  be  by  you,  my  Perceforest.  If 
Theseus  went  to  Hell  after  that  other  gentleman,  I 
will  go  to  Bemerton  if  needs  be.  But  needs  will  not. 
Needs  call  otherwhere.  What  do  you  say  to  a  likely, 
manor  in  Kent,  with  the  title  of  Lord  of  Parliament, 
cousin  and  councillor  to  a  great  king?  You  have  a 
kingly  name,  for  was  not  a  Perceforest  king  of  all 
England  ?  Everybody  knows  it.  You  may  carve  out 
these  rewards  and  have  your  little  Mawdleyn  under 
your  arm  all  the  while.  Come.  I  see  a  part  of  the 
way,  but  I  am  plaguily  athirst  with  all  this  tongue- 
work.    Come,  boy,  let  us  drink.    Leave  the  rest 


igo  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

to  me:  counsel  comes  on  the  flood.  But  let  us  by 
no  means  omit  our  respects  to  the  respectable  Saint 
Swithin,  lord  of  this  place,  though  dead  as  a  mutton- 
bone.    Come,  my  gamebird,  bend  the  knee  with  me." 


CHAPTER  II 

WILES  OF  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD 

They  bent  the  knee  together,  the  man  of  blood  and 
the  weeper,  then  rose  up  and  went  out  of  the  great 
church.  As  they  journeyed,  the  Captain  was  good 
enough  to  expound  his  philosophy  of  saints  and 
ladies,  whom  he  classed  together  as  amiable  emol- 
lients of  our  frail  age,  as  so  much  ointment,  necessary 
to  us  in  early  manhood,  better,  however,  taken  early, 
and  always  in  moderation.  Nearing  the  inn  he  be- 
came full  of  thought,  and  his  face  took  on  so  porten- 
tous a  cast  of  brooding  melancholy  that  Percival 
dared  not  break  in  upon  it.  The  Captain,  as  the 
result  showed,  had  been  thinking  partly  of  beer,  for 
he  drank  deeply  and  at  once  of  this  fount  of  solace, 
with  both  hands  at  the  flagon.  Percival  sipped  his 
beer  delicately,  without  wetting  more  than  the  red  of 
his  lips;  his  little  finger  pointed  to  the  sky  as  he  lifted 
his  jug.  This  was  not  lost  upon  the  Captain,  who 
said  to  himself,  "It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  are  higher 
bom  than  you  suppose,  my  lambkin;  so  much  the 
better  for  Jack."  But  when  he  had  again  drunk 
copiously,  thrown  down  the  flagon  for  dogs  to  sniff 
at,  and  wrung  out  his  beard,  moustachios,  and  eye- 
brows, regardless  of  his  birth  he  slapped  his  young 

191 


192  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

friend  on  the  thigh,  saying,  "I  have  it,  gamepoult, 
I  have  it." 

"What  have  you,  sir?"  asks  Percival.  The  Cap- 
tain repHed,  "There  is  but  one  thing  to  have  in  the 
world,  since  you  and  I  are  one.  I  have  your  Mawd- 
leyn  like  bird  in  net."  He  shut  his  two  hands  to- 
gether to  shape  a  cage ;  one  of  his  thumbs  was  stuck 
up  for  the  inmate.  "She  is  in  there,  I  tell  you,"  he 
averred.    "Do  you  see  her?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  Percival. 

"You  are  a  good  lad,"  replied  the  Captain;  "and 
I'll  tell  you  this  for  certain-sure;  you  too  shall  be 
there,  billing  on  the  same  perch,  in  three  shakes  of  a 
leg,  if  you  follow  me.  Is  this  to  your  liking?"  Per- 
cival seized  his  friend's  hand. 

"Oh,  I  will  follow  you  to  the  world's  end,  dear 
sir!"  he  cried  with  fervour;  and  the  Captain,  "You 
shall  follow  me  no  farther  than  Kent  at  this  present. 
Now  listen,  and  answer  me.  This  Prioress  of  Am- 
bresbury,  what  favour  hath  she?  Is  she  a  big  lady, 
or  a  little  mincing,  can-I-venture  kind  of  a  lady  ?  Is 
she  of  fine  presence  or  mean  ?  In  a  word,  doth  she 
favour  your  tun  or  your  broomstick?" 

"She  is  a  fine  woman,  sir,"  replied  Percival,  "with 
a  most  notable  shape." 

"Aha!"  says  the  Captain,  "I  feel  a  Turk.  Now 
then,  what  sort  of  a  train  hath  she  ?    Many  or  few  ?'* 

"Sir,  she  is  accompanied,  as  her  due  is,  by  two 
stirrup-boys,  half  a  score  men-at-arms,  an  esquire 
of  the  body,  a  seneschal,  a  confessor,  and  five  tire- 
women, to  say  nothing  of  Sister  Guiscarda,  who  hath 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 


193 


no  teeth  to  speak  of,  or  of  Sister  Petronilla,  who  loves 
me  a  little  out  of  pity."  The  Captain,  musing,  made 
a  note  of  Sister  Petronilla. 

"Very  sufficient  indeed  for  an  honourable  gentle- 
woman," he  said,  "and  very  pleasing  to  God,  I  am 
sure.  Now,  if  I  twisted  the  neck  of  one  of  those  stir- 
rup-jacks, and  put  you  into  his  place  and  breeches, 
who  is  the  worse?"  Percival  glowed  in  his  skin. 
"No  one  would  be  the  worse,  sir,"  says  he,  "save  per- 
chance the  boy  whose  neck  you  should  be  pleased  to 
wring;  and,  oh,  sir,  many,  many  would  be  the  better!" 

"Let  be  then,"  said  the  Captain;  "I  will  arrange 
it  for  you."    Percival  sighed. 

"How  shall  I  thank  you,  my  noble  benefactor?" 
he  said  earnestly.  The  Captain  put  hands  on  his 
shoulders. 

"You  shall  thank  me  by  your  deeds,  my  lad.  I 
know  a  youth  of  parts  when  I  see  him — a  pale  face 
that  knows  the  look  of  letters,  a  thin  hand  that  can 
curl  about  a  penholder.  You  are  exactly  what  I 
need.  Don't  suppose  that  you  are  not  to  work  for 
your  bliss.  Not  at  all.  You  shall  do  a  pretty  work 
in  the  world  before  you  are  a  moon  older.  Now  I  am 
for  the  Abbey  of  Hyde.  Have  you  any  commands 
for  me?  A  billet  for  the  round  eyes  of  Mawdle)ni 
Touchett?  A  love-lock?  Ah,  you  are  shorn  like  a 
Burgundian,  I  see." 

"Sir,"  says  Percival,  "I  will  write  if  I  may." 

"Write,  write,"  his  friend  urged  him.  "I  am 
glad  you  have  the  knack  of  that.  Presently  you  shall 
be  writing  for  the  realm  f" 


194 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 


Percival,  using  his  knee  for  desk,  wrote  in  the  inn- 
yard: 

My  pretty  lamb,  these  words  shall  kiss  thine  eyes, 
letting  thee  know  that  I  am  near  at  hand,  withal  cry- 
ing to  be  nearer.  And  so  I  shall  be  anon,  as  I  am 
assured  by  the  noblest  friend  ever  young  man  had. 
Start  not,  colour  not,  be  surprised  at  nothing  thou 
shalt  see  or  hear  to-morrow.  O  my  lovely  love,  my 
rose,  my  dear,  kiss  this  paper  where  my  heart  is 
spilt. — ^From  thy  true  love. 

Poor  Percival. 

To  my  sweet  Mistress  Mawdleyn  Touchett,  by  a 
very  trusty  hand. 

"Read  it  over  to  me,  boy,"  said  Captain  Brazen- 
head.  This  Percival  did,  with  some  confusion  of 
face. 

"By  the  bones  of  Saint  Jezebel,"  said  his  friend, 
"that  is  the  prettiest  letter  but  three  I  have  ever  read 
of — ah,  or  caused  to  be  written.  Soon  enough,  that 
gate,  you  shall  wriggle  where  that  will  go.  Now  help 
me  out  with  my  horse  and  stuff.  I  lodge  at  Hyde  this 
night ;  and  do  you  lie  snug  in  the  Strangers'  Hall,  my 
dear,  and  stay  there  till  I  send  for  you." 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  WAS  HIMSELF  RECRUITED 

The  deeds  of  Captain  Brazenhead  from  this  point 
became  swift  and  ruthless;  they  demand  epic  treat- 
ment wholly  beyond  my  present  means,  and  would 
be  omitted,  with  a  bare  mention  of  the  fact  accom- 
plished, were  it  not  for  one  beautiful  flaw  in  them, 
very  characteristic  of  the  man,  which  (although  he 
had  no  notion  of  it  then)  entirely  spoiled  his  own  real 
design,  to  Percival  Perceforest's  incalculable  benefit. 
Let  me,  therefore,  say  that  the  Captain  rode  (upon 
his  stolen  horse)  into  the  stables  of  the  Abbot  of 
Hyde,  and  told  a  lay-brother  whom  he  found  there 
that  he  was  to  be  a  guest  for  that  night .  D  ismounted , 
he  stalked  into  the  stables  to  see  the  animals.  There 
was  a  fat  cream-coloured  Galician  horse  there,  with 
a  headstall  of  red  leather.  He  risked  his  all  upon 
that. 

''What!"  he  cried  out,  "is  my  gossip  the  Lady  of 
Ambresbury  abroad?    Is  that  possible?" 

"Her  ladyship  is  here  for  one  night,  indeed,  sir," 
says  lay-brother  Eupeptus.  The  Captain  faced  him, 
with  terrible  eyes. 

"And  does  she  know,  thinkest  thou,  bare-poll,  that 
her  dear  Cambases  is  herded  with  common  sumpter- 

195 


196  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

beasts  ?  By  my  head  I  will  never  believe  it.  Where 
are  her  people  ?  Where  are  her  two  stirrup-boys,  her 
half  a  score  men-at-arms,  her  esquire  of  the  body, 
her  seneschal,  her  confessor,  her  five  tirewomen,  to  say 
nothing  of  Sister  Guiscarda,  who  has  no  teeth,  or  of 
Sister  Petronilla,  who  loves  me  a  little  out  of  pity? 
Lord  of  battles,  brother,  answer  me  quick!" 

"Sir,"  replied  the  trembling  brother,  "I  believe 
they  are  in  chapel  at  this  hour;  but  the  two  lads  are 
out  in  the  meads,  I  am  sure,  bird's-nesting.  I  saw 
them  go  down  this  half-hour  or  more,  and  I'll  swear 
to  their  present  occupation  (once  they  be  there)  by 
my  lively  hopes  of  heaven." 

Captain  Brazenhead,  with  a  great  air,  strode  out 
of  the  courtyard;  but,  instead  of  going  into  the  Abbey, 
he  turned  through  a  wicket-gate  into  the  Abbot's 
garden,  skirted  a  yew  hedge,  found  a  hole  in  it, 
wormed  himself  through,  crossed  a  kitchen  plot,  a 
herbary,  a  nuttery,  climbed  a  wall  by  means  of  a  fig- 
tree,  and  dropped  ten  feet  into  the  meads.  Then 
he  took  his  way  over  the  growing  grass  toward  the 
river,  which  he  saw  coiling  between  banks  of  bright 
green,  like  a  blue  snake  enlarging  under  the  sun. 
The  evening  was  very  fair,  the  sun  behind  the  towers 
of  Wolvesey,  the  rooks  circling  about  the  Nun's  Walk. 
Larks  soared  and  sang,  a  soft  wind  played  over  the 
meadows.  The  Caplain  particularly  delighted  in  the 
cow&lips,  which,  springing  everywhere  about  his  feet, 
appealed  to  his  tenderest  feelings,  and  caused  him  to 
skip  like  a  lamb  unweaned,  lest  he  should  unhappily 
tread  on  any  nodding  crown  of  them.    "My  fresh 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  197 

beauties!  My  dairy-delights!'*  cried  he,  "I  would 
as  soon  trample  my  mother's  grave  as  your  wagging 
golden  heads!"  Prancing  thus,  full  of  the  soft  mood 
which  opening  adventure  always  brings  to  the  truly 
adventurous,  carolling  and  talking  secrets  to  the 
flowers,  he  drew  near  the  smooth-flowing,  dimpled 
waters  of  Itchen,  deep  and  dark  just  here.  Right 
and  left,  up  and  down  river  he  looked,  first  at  the  ris- 
ing trout,  next  for  bigger  game.  He  clacked  his 
tongue  in  his  cheek  at  what  he  made  out.  "I  am 
in  luck's  way  this  happy  evening,"  he  told  himseK, 
"I  have  divided  the  enemy."  This  was  the  case. 
To  his  left  he  saw  a  figure  in  dark  clothes — or  (to  be 
exact)  the  lower  half  of  a  figure — busy  in  a  clump  of 
osiers;  to  his  right  another,  very  delicately  pink  in  the 
declining  sunlight,  sitting  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
naked  arms  clasping  naked  knees,  chin  atop.  "This 
is  my  game,"  said  the  Captain  to  himself;  "I  leave 
sedge- warblers  to  the  other  innocent.  This  one  is  a 
bather.  He  shall  have  a  long  swim,  by  my  immortal 
part." 

Captain  Brazenhead,  on  his  belly,  crept  warily 
up  a  drain;  and  it  had  assuredly  gone  ill  with  the 
Prioress's  stirrup-boy  had  his  stalking  enemy  not 
happened  upon  some  early  forget-me-nots  growing 
upon  the  north  bank  of  his  covert.  This  is  one  of 
those  star-directed  chances  which  may  change  the 
fates  of  empires.  Seeing  these  flowers,  "O  patch 
of  heaven's  blue!  O  eyes  of  the  deep  hiding-place  of 
my  God!"  breathed  the  prone,  delighted  Captain 
Brazenhead.    "  O  colour  of  sacred  hope,  what  bliss- 


198  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

ful  fortune  drew  my  sight  to  thine  ?"  He  picked  two 
or  three  of  the  starry  flowers  and  peered  over  the 
drain,  as  he  did  so,  at  the  unconscious  youth,  who, 
with  his  knees  clasped  between  his  hands,  still  looked 
at  the  water.  Said  the  Captain  in  his  thought,  "My 
lad,  these  azure  blossoms  have  saved  thy  virgin  life. 
Thank  the  Maker  of  all  flowers!"  So  said,  he 
sprang  suddenly  upon  him  from  behind,  as  a  man 
will  throw  himself  upon  a  great  fish  in  a  shallow. 
The  boy,  smothered  under  fold  upon  fold  of  Captain, 
could  neither  move  nor  cry  out:  one  great  knee  was 
over  his  mouth,  another  pressed  the  pit  of  his  stom- 
ach, his  toes  were  pricked  by  a  fierce  beard.  The 
Captain  at  leisure  reached  over  for  his  captive's  shirt 
and  tore  it  into  three  long  strips  over  his  head.  With 
one  of  these  he  securely  bound  the  prisoner's  ankles ; 
turning  him  over,  he  next  tied  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  Lastly  he  wound  up  his  mouth  with  three  or 
four  thicknesses  of  calico;  then  carried  him  off  and 
laid  him  snugly  in  the  drain,  which  was  very  nearly 
dry.  He  did  not  forget  to  choose  a  place  for  him 
close  to  the  patch  of  early  forget-me-nots.  "There, 
my  chicken,"  he  said  kindly,  "your  eyes  shall  be 
gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the  innocent  saviours  of 
your  life.  Look  upon  these  little  blue  beauties,  and 
thank  God  night  and  morning  for  one  of  the  fairest 
sights  His  world  can  offer  you."  So  said,  he  picked 
up  the  discarded  clothes  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could 
toward  the  Abbey. 

He  broke  through  gates  and  doors,  raced  down 
passages,  crossed  the  Little  Cloister,  and  jostled  a 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  199 

way  for  himself  between  the  crowd  of  servants  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  refectory.  The  monks  were  at  sup- 
per under  the  direction  of  the  Prior,  who  sat  at  the 
high  table.  The  Lord  Abbot,  no  doubt,  was  enter- 
taining guests  in  his  parlour;  was  therefore  more  re- 
mote from  approach.  It  would  be  necessary  for  the 
Captain  to  roar  if  he  wished  (as  he  did  wish)  to  be 
heard  in  there;  and  yet  his  sense  of  fitness  told  him 
that  he  should  not  bewail  outrageously  so  slight  a 
misfortune  as  he  had  been  able  to  procure.  "The 
noise  I  shall  have  to  make,"  he  had  said  to  himself, 
reasoning  as  he  ran,  "if  I  am  to  penetrate  the  walls 
of  the  Abbot's  parlour,  would  be  extravagant  for  the 
death  of  a  prelate.  Tush!  and  I  am  to  waste  it  upon 
a  thin  little  boy  not  even  drowned  in  truth.  But 
what  else  can  I  do  to  serve  my  friend  Percef orest  ? " 
Even  as  he  said  the  words,  being  within  the  doors 
of  the  refectory,  he  began  a  wail  which  might  well 
wake  the  dead.  Holding  on  high  the  limp  testimony 
of  his  news,  he  poured  the  whole  of  his  magnificent 
natural  organ  into  gusts  and  volleys  of  woe  toward 
the  rafters.  Tuba  mirum  spar  gens  sonuml  "Oh, 
too  much  dole  to  be  borne!  Oh,  misery  of  men! 
Hapless,  hapless  Narcissus!  Hylas,  early  cut  off! 
Out  and  alas!  Mes  tres  chers  freres,  look  upon  these 
weeds!"  It  was  as  if  the  Seven  Vials  had  been 
loosed,  as  if  the  Archangel  were  sounding  the  Last 
Trump,  and  all  the  unhappy  dead  voicing  their 
despair.  "O  lasso!  Oimel  O  troppo,  troppo  do- 
hre!"  pursued  the  Captain,  intoxicated  with  his 
fancy,  and  breaking  easily  into  the  Italian.    The 


200  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

monks  and  their  guests  were  all  on  foot,  the  servants 
ran  about,  the  dogs  came  out  from  under  the  tables 
and  howled  at  the  howling  Captain;  the  Reverend 
Prior  whipped  his  napkin  from  his  neck  (lest  he 
should  strangle)  and  swallowed  a  toast  before  the 
time.  A  picture  of  tragic  woe,  the  Captain  stood 
befoce  him,  exhibiting  in  one  hand  a  pair  of  murrey 
breeches  and  jerkin  of  leather,  in  the  other  a  stout 
shoe,  two  worsted  stockings,  and  what  remained  of 
a  shirt. 

"Look  at  these  tokens,  reverend  father,"  says 
the  Captain,  "and  shudder  with  me." 

"Who  are  you?"  asks  the  Prior,  blowing  out  his 
lips.    The  Captain  was  ready  for  that. 

"I  am  Mallecho,  the  Sorrowful  Sprite,  the  Dark 
Herald,  Testadirame,"  he  announced  in  bodeful 
accents. 

"And  why  under  heaven  do  you  show  me  your 
old  clothes?"  the  Prior  asked  him  testily.  The 
Captain  with  sobs  enlarged  upon  the  question. 
Would  to  God,  he  cried  out,  that  they  had  been  his! 
Alas!  they  had  covered  a  younger,  more  blossoming 
body  than  his  old  skin  could  hold.  The  nymphs, 
he  went  on  to  say,  had  the  beauteous  owner  of  these 
weeds;  Itchen's  blue  wave  rolled  over  him,  fishes 
explored  his  armpits,  eels  and  other  serpents  wreathed 
his  legs.  "This  man,"  said  the  Reverend  Prior,  "is 
undoubtedly  mad.    Let  the  almoner  be  sent  for,  the 

infirmarer,    and    the   exorciser "     But  at  that 

moment  a  monk,  running  in  from  a  door  in  the  panel, 
knelt  before  the  Prior,  a  messenger  from  the  Lord 


THE   CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  201 

Abbot  to  know  what  this  monstrous  commotion  could 
be  about. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  change  in  Captain 
Brazenhead.  The  usher  of  woe  no  more,  there 
stood  erect  as  keen  a  man  of  affairs  as  ever  you  saw 
in  your  life.  "Your  pardon,  my  reverend  brothers, 
I  had  taken  this  good  father  for  your  Lord  Abbot. 
Conduct  me,  brother,  to  his  Grace.  Unless  I 
gravely  mistake,  I  have  sad  news  for  his  most  cher- 
ished guest." 

"Do  you  mean ?"  the  Prior  began  to  ask. 

Captain  Brazenhead  laid  a  finger  to  his  mouth. 

"I  do  mean "  he  began  to  answer. 

"Take  him  with  you,  Brother  Harmonius,"  said 
the  Prior;  so  the  Captain  with  his  tokens  was  led 
away  to  the  Abbot's  parlour. 

In  this  very  stately  apartment  of  black  oak  and 
silver  sconces  and  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  he 
saw  all  that  he  wanted.  The  Lord  Abbot  was  there, 
a  shaggy-browed,  portly  man,  enthroned.  On  his 
right  hand  sat  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury,  majestic, 
ox-eyed,  slow-moving,  with  the  remains  of  beauty 
carefully  husbanded;  next  to  her  a  yellow  old  nun 
with  a  few  teeth;  next  to  her  again  the  undoubted 
Mawdleyn  Touchett  of  Percival  Perceforest's  han- 
dling, a  fine  die-away  girl,  with  a  creamy  skin,  bounti- 
ful shape  by  no  means  concealed  in  a  dress  of  white 
cloth,  and  a  pair  of  brimming  brown  eyes  which,  his 
experience  told  him,  would  go  through  a  diaphragm 
quicker  than  a  knife  through  butter.  Upon  her  far- 
ther side  was  another  nun,  of  mild,  repining  counte- 


202  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

nance,  whose  head  mostly  inclined  to  one  side,  and 
who  as  she  talked  drew  the  breath  inward.  This 
must  be  Sister  Petronilla,  who  loved  Percival  a  little. 
Other  guests  there  were,  of  whom  this  history  has 
nothing  to  report.  Supper  was  over:  the  Abbot 
dallied  with  a  sop  in  wine,  the  Prioress  with  a  silver 
toothpick;  Mawdleyn  Touchett,  who  seemed  in  a 
melting  mood,  rather  tumbled  and  very  tired,  played 
with  her  fingers  in  her  lap.  A  couple  of  minstrels 
half-kneeled  on  the  floor,  and  strummed  their  strings 
to  deaf  ears.  Captain  Brazenhead  was  a  diversion, 
a  healthy  gale  in  a  close  garden ;  the  singers  stopped 
of  their  own  accord  in  the  middle  of  an  heroic  couplet, 
telling  how 

Sire  Simone  de  Rochefort 
N'i  porta  pas  baniere  a  tort, 

and  Captain  Brazenhead  came  lightly  to  the  point. 

"By  your  leave,  my  Lord  Abbot,"  he  said,  then 
turned  nobly  to  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbyry.  "  Mad- 
am, I  bring  this  sorrowful  testimony  of  the  too  early 
demise  of  one  of  your  servants.  A  young  boy,  mad- 
am, whose  privilege  and  hope  it  was  to  serve  by 
your  foot,  seeking  the  solace  of  the  water,  has  found 
eternal  solace  in  the  bosom  of  Our  Lady  (whom  let 
us  bless  forever!).  I  found  these  clothes  by  the 
water,  madam;  the  tender  body  I  found  not." 

The  Prioress  removed  the  toothpick,  as  sh^  said, 
"I  recognise  the  colour  of  my  livery,  sir,  but  do  not 
call  to  mind  the  wearer.  It  may  be  very  true  what 
you  tell  me." 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  203 

"It  is  most  woundily  true,  madam,"  says  the  Cap- 
tain, with  a  glimpse  at  Mawdleyn's  brown  eyes. 

"I  do  not  doubt  you,  sir,"  returned  the  Prioress; 
"but  I  suppose  I  can  find  boys  enough  in  Winchester. 
Meantime,  I  am  very  much  obhged  to  you  for  your 
labours." 

"Madam,"  says  the  Captain,  "my  labours,  as  you 
are  pleased  to  call  what  I  protest  to  be  delights,  are 
but  begun,  if  (as  I  assume)  your  ladyship  needs  a 
new  stirrup-boy.  I  hope  I  know  what  is  due  from 
a  man  of  my  degree  to  a  lady  of  yours.  We  cheva- 
liers, madam,  are  sworn  to  the  succour  of  ladies;  and 
I  should  never  dare  look  again  into  the  face  of  my 
friend  the  Duke  of  Milan  (who  dubbed  me  knight)  if 
I  were  false  to  that  oath.  Madam,  I  found  the  husk, 
let  me  find  a  kernel;  I  found  the  poor  weeds,  let  me 
find  the  ^sprouting  bud." 

"I  confess  that  I  do  not  altogether  understand  your 
desires,"  said  the  Prioress,  with  some  hesitation; 
"but  if  the  Duke's  Grace  of  Milan " 

"Yes,  yes,"  put  in  the  Abbot,  "if  the  Duke's  Grace 
of  Milan " 

"Would  to  God,  dear  madam,"  cried  the  Captain, 
with  real  feeling,  "would  to  God,  my  Lord  Abbot,  I 
could  supply  you  with  the  kind  of  lads  that  flower  in 
my  good  friend's  court!  Hey,  the  bloom,  the  glitter, 
the  Cupid's  limbs  of  these  dexterous  youths!  They 
will  tie  you  a  shoe,  pommel  you  a  cushion,  they  will 
trim  you  a  wimple,  swing  you  to  a  horse,  dance,  sing, 
cap  verses,  tell  tales  like  young  gods  at  play  of  an 
evening.    I  cannot,  in  this  homely  land,  perform 


204  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

the  impossible,  alack!  but  I  can  get  you  a  very  hand- 
some youngster  of  my  own  retinue,  and  warrant  him 
no  lick-pot  neither — if  that  will  serve  your  ladyship's 
turn." 

This  was  a  delicate  moment,  if  you  please,  for  the 
Captain.  Directly  he  had  ofifered,  he  knew  that  he 
had  offered  too  much  and  too  soon ;  but  there  was  no 
withdrawing.  The  Abbot  spoke  first,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair;  plainly  he  was  weary  of  the  thing. 
"This  appears  to  be  a  business  for  my  sister  of  Am- 
bresbury  to  consider  more  with  her  seneschal  than 
with  her  host.  Yet  the  gentleman's  pains  merit  some 
courtesy  at  our  hands.  Sir,"  he  said  to  the  Captain, 
"a  cup  of  wine  with  you." 

"My  Lord,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  "there 
spoke  a  prelate." 

The  wine  was  brought;  Captain  Brazenhead  drank 
deep.  After  that  he  began  to  talk,  and  the  minstrels' 
office  was  at  an  end.  He  spoke  first  of  his  travels 
in  remote  and  marvellous  parts  of  the  world — of  the 
desert  between  the  Church  of  Saint  Catherine  and 
Jerusalem;  of  the  Dry  Tree;  and  of  how  roses  first 
came  into  the  world.  The  City  of  Calamye  and  its 
lamentable  law  of  marriage  engaged  him  next;  also 
the  evil  custom  of  the  Isle  of  Lamary,  and  concerning 
the  palace  of  the  King  of  the  Isles  of  Java.  He  told 
of  trees  that  bear  meal,  honey,  wine,  and  venom;  of 
the  herb  Edelfla  which  is  said  to  resemble  a  woman; 
of  the  realms  of  Tharse;  of  the  Devil's  head  in  the 
Valley  Perilous;  and  of  pismires  and  their  hills  of 
gold.    By  a  transition  as  easy  as  it  was  abrupt,  he 


THE   CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  205 

passed  to  Natural  Science,  in  which  he  showed  him- 
self learned  without  pedantry.  He  spoke  of  the  nine 
eyes  of  the  lamprey,  and  reasoned  boldly  for  the 
common  opinion  of  the  ostrich,  which  conceives  that 
it  digesteth  iron.  This  he  said  he  had  himself 
proved,  though  he  must  be  excused  from  telling  them 
how.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  him  upon  the 
vexed  question  of  whether  hares  are  indeed  her- 
maphrodites; he  was  so  adroit  in  handling,  fertile 
in  parallels,  discreet,  subtle,  provocative  of  thought. 
And  he  carried  his  hearers  with  him.  Not  so,  how- 
ever, in  the  matter  of  mandrakes,  to  whom  he  denied 
the  virtue  of  shrieking  when  pulled  by  night.  Of 
this  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury  was  positive;  equally 
constant  was  the  Abbot  of  Hyde  in  the  assertion  that 
they  have  thighs.  The  Captain  laughed  off  his 
obstinacy. 

He  spoke  next  of  perils,  painted  in  battle-pieces 
with  a  broad  brush  as  he  went.  He  took  his  hearers 
with  him  to  sunny  foreign  courts,  to  Venice,  to 
Rimini,  to  Florence,  back  again  to  his  dear  Milan, 
and  to  three  hundred  Anabaptists  whom  he  con- 
fessed to  slaying  there.  They  beheld  him  head  a 
sortie  at  the  siege  of  Rhodes.  When  theBarbary 
corsairs  chained  him  naked  to  a  galley  they  sat  still, 
crisping  their  hands,  until  he  picked  up  with  his  toes 
the  haK  of  a  file;  then  while  his  escape  was  in  the 
framing,  while  the  file  (wetted  with  spittle)  ground 
through  the  hot,  dense  nights,  ah,  how  they  held  their 
breath !  He  whirled  them  off  with  him  into  the  Low 
Countries,  and  bade  them  wait  while  he  cut  the 


2o6  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

dykes  and  flooded  a  whole  country-side.  He  burned 
the  Pucelle  of  Orleans  before  their  dilating  eyes,  and 
owned  with  natural  blushes  that  it  was  himself  who 
(for  reasons  then  found  good)  so  nearly  broke  the 
marriage-treaty  between  King  Harry's  Grace  and 
the  daughter  of  King  Ren6  of  Anjou.  In  a  word, 
by  these  his  accounts  of  wide  experiences,  of  patient, 
curious  research,  of  gestes  and  feats  of  arms,  rapidly 
delivered,  copiously  illustrated,  and  exceedingly  un- 
true, he  had  his  auditory  between  his  finger  and 
thumb;  and  not  even  a  little  misadventure  with 
Mawdleyn  midway  of  his  oration  could  throw  him 
off  his  balance.  The  fact  is,  the  Captain  greatly  ad- 
mired this  fine  girl,  and  paid  her  the  tribute  of  his 
looks  and  speech  a  little  more  than  he  need,  or  was 
prudent.  This,  while  it  escaped  the  Prioress,  by  no 
means  escaped  the  vigilance  of  the  sour  old  nun  who 
sat  at  her  left  hand,  and  who  deliberately  brought  up 
the  girl's  blue  riding-cloak  from  the  back  of  her  chair, 
and  puUed  the  hood  over  her  head  so  as  to  cover  her 
eyes.  Thus  hooded  like  a  hawk  the  poor  child  re- 
mained; yet,  while  the  Captain  not  so  much  as 
paused  in  his  discourse  at  the  cruel  act,  he  was  careful 
to  see  the  gentler  nun  on  the  other  side  wince  at  it,  and 
(good  husbandman!)  made  that  serve  his  turn,  as 
you  will  discover.  The  end  of  all  was  that  he  won 
over  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury,  who,  on  rising  from 
the  table,  begged  his  company  for  a  further  private 
conversation.  By  this  time  she  had  been  led  to  be- 
lieve that  Captain  Brazenhead  had  nearly  lost  his 
life  in  the  effort  to  save  her  stirrup-boy's,  that  he  had 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  207 

provided  interment  at  his  own  charges,  and  written 
gentlemanly  letters  (enclosing  a  sum  of  money)  to  the 
parents.  Such  are  the  effects  of  the  art  of  suggestion 
in  rapid  narrative. 

At  the  going  out,  which  was  done  with  great  cere- 
mony of  ushers,  a  chaplain  and  waiting-women,  the 
gentle  nun  fluttered  near  Captain  Brazenhead,  wish- 
ful, but  not  daring,  to  speak.  The  Captain  en- 
couraged her  with  the  sort  of  eye  that  takes  you  more 
than  half-way. 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  this  palpitating  creature,  "oh,  sir, 
forgive  my  sister  Guiscarda.  She  hath  our  charge 
greatly  on  her  conscience." 

"Dear  madam,"  replied  the  Captain  soothingly, 
"say  no  more.  She  hath  a  fine  heart,  I  am  sure,  and 
a  lofty,  great  soul." 

"She  is  too  severe,"  said  the  good  nun.  "Gentle- 
ness may  lead  where  harsh  dealing  may  never,  never 
drive."  Captain  Brazenhead  took  her  hand  and 
whispered  over  it. 

"You  share  the  qualities  of  the  blessed  angels,  dear 
madam,"  he  said.  "  Be  now  an  angel  indeed,  a  pious 
messenger.  Hist!  come  close.  You  are  a  friend  of 
our  fair  prisoner.    You  are,  I  know  it ;  say  no  more." 

The  nun  quailed  to  hear  him. 

"I  love  the  dear  child " 

"You  do!  And  she  loves — and  she  is  loved — ^and 
she  suffers — we  suffer — they  suffer — ha!" 

"Oh,  sir " 

"You  have  a  red  heart,  madam.  Quick,  quick! 
Take  this  writing — 'tis  for  her,  a  balsam  for  a  bruised 


2o8  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

little  heart.  Hearts  go  bleeding;  staunch  the  wound. 
Deliver  it  as  you  can,  while  I  hold  the  old  lady.  I 
dare  no  more.  Oh,  sacred  bond  between  you  and 
me!"  He  thrust  into  Sister  Petronilla's  trembling 
hand  Percival  Perceforest's  love-letter.  Before  she 
could  protest  or  implore  he  was  gone,  had  stepped 
after  the  Prioress's  people,  and  was  in  the  thick  of  new 
oratory.  Here  I  cannot  ask  you  to  follow  him,  but 
from  what  you  know  of  his  powers  already  displayed 
you  must  judge  the  end  of  the  adventure.  He  en- 
listed Master  Perceforest,  in  the  name  of  his  sister's 
son,  Piers  Thrustwood  (you  mark  the  disguise),  into 
the  place  and  breeches  of  the  youth  who  lay  gagged 
and  naked  in  a  ditch  in  Winchester  Meads,  hard  by 
a  clump  of  early  forget-me-nots.  By  this  time  cor- 
roborative testimony  had  been  brought  home  by  the 
second  stirrup-boy,  the  bird's-nester. 
That  night  Mawdleyn  Touchett  wrote  as  follows; 

O  heart!  S(ister)  P(etronilla)  delivered  me  your 
paper  after  supper.  Now  it  is,  you  know  where,  well 
kissed.  I  would  I  had  you  there.  They  pulled  my 
hood  over  my  face  because  your  soldier  looked  at  me. 
I  saw  your  face  the  better.  I  will  not  see  you  to- 
morrow ^  as  you  bid  me ;  and  yet,  O  shall  I  not  see  you  ? 
Good-night,  good-night,  good-night! 
Your  pledged 

Mawdleyn. 

Outside  this  she  dared  to  write,  unable  to  resist  the 
look  of  the  words,  "to  my  bosom's  lord,  P.  P.  give 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  209 

this,  M.  T.,  dardant  desyr,"  and  coaxed  Sister  Petro- 
nilla  into  delivering  it  to  the  Captain. 

That  same  night  Captain  Brazenhead  lay  on  his 
back  upon  the  Abbot's  good  flock ;  Percival  moaned 
in  his  half-slumber  and  rolled  about  upon  the  beaten 
floor  of  the  Common  Hall;  and  Sister  Petronilla, 
having  Mawdleyn's  happy  cheek  against  her  bosom, 
tried  to  believe  herself  justified  by  faith,  not  works. 


.  CHAPTER  IV 

HOW  PERCEVAL  PROSPERED  AND  THE  CAPTAIN  FELT 
JUSTIFIED 

"The  humble  supplication  of  Lancelot  Corbet, 
Citizen  and  Scrivener  of  London,  Richard  Smith, 
mariner,  of  the  county  of  the  town  of  Kingston-upon- 
Hull,  of  Gundrith  his  wife,  native  of  Norroway,  and 
of  Giles  Cruttenden  of  Mereworth,  in  the  county  of 
Kent,  yeoman,"  was  presented  in  the  morning  early 
to  "the  Reverend  Mother,  their  Good  Ladyship,  the 
Prioress  of  Ambresbury";  and  was  to  the  effect  that 
her  orators,  devoutly  disposed  by  motions  of  their 
spiritual  parts  in  no  wise  to  be  mistaken,  were  bounden 
upon  the  pilgrimage  of  Saint  Thomas;  but  because 
of  the  disturbed  state  of  the  road,  owing  to  these  un- 
happy times  of  discord  and  the  far  purposes  of 
Almighty  God  (not  to  be  discerned  by  men  alone), 
they  went  in  peril  of  their  lives  and  substance,  "being 
but  poor  folk  unfriended  of  any."  Their  prayer  was 
that  they  might  be  allowed  to  join  the  retinue  of  the 
Prioress,  and  be  friends  of  her  friends,  foes  of  her 
foes;  whereby  they  could  not  doubt  but  that  Saint 
Thomas  would  be  favourable  to  them,  and  the  Prior- 
ess profit  by  the  added  prayers  of  very  grateful  per- 
sons. Also  her  petitioners,  as  in  duty  bound,  would 
ever  pray. 

azo 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  211 

The  Prioress  was  inclined  to  admit  these  honest 
people  to  her  company;  but  Captain  Brazenhead, 
who  enjoyed  some  authority  with  her,  said,  "Pass  the 
mariner  and  his  (apparently)  heathen  wife,  pass 
Cruttenden  into  Kent;  but  leave  me  to  deal  with  Cor- 
bet the  scrivener,  for  I  know  him  of  old  for  a  short- 
faced,  snarling  rogue."  It  was  true  that  Captain 
Brazenhead  knew  him  for  his  acquaintance  of  yester- 
day in  the  Church  of  Saint  Swithin.  When,  there- 
fore, the  short-faced  man  came  thumping  toward  the 
gates  of  Hyde,  cloaked,  strapped,  and  well-embaled, 
the  Captain  met  him  with  a  short,  "Ha,  scrivener, 
dismount.    None  enter  here." 

"By  your  leave,  sir,"  says  the  scrivener. 

"You  have  no  leave  of  mine,"  said  the  Captain  in 
reply;  "therefore,  come  down  or  I  give  you  number 
three."    He  touched  his  pommel. 

When  the  scrivener,  after  multitudinous  unstrap- 
pings,  was  on  firm  ground.  Captain  Brazenhead  put 
on  a  very  wise  face  and  said:  "A  word  will  be  enough 
in  your  ear.  We  carry  with  us  a  person  of  conse- 
quence.   You  love  Y k."    The  Scrivener  went 

as  white  as  the  favoured  rose. 

"Who— what— how!" 

"Precisely,"  replied  the  Captain,  "you  answer 
yourself.  Say  no  more:  finger  on  lip;  eyes  on  the 
ground;  ears  wide — pass  in."  The  Scrivener  went 
slowly  in.  Captain  Brazenhead,  his  luck  still  hold- 
ing, had  spoken  wiselier  than  he  knew. 

At  this  point  you  may  see,  if  you  will,  Percival 
Perceforest  demurely  habited  in  the  murrey  jacket 


212  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

and  breeches,  the  worsted  stockings,  greasy  cap,  and 
shoes  of  the  Prioress's  stirrup-boy;  you  may  guess 
what  glint  lay  behind  Mawdleyn  Touchett's  dewy 
eyes,  with  what  clouded  white  and  opening  red  she 
flushed  and  paled  as  each  moment  of  a  wondrous 
day  brought  up  its  alarms,  to  melt  them  suddenly  in 
rewards;  how  the  heart  of  Sister  Petronilla  (thick  in 
the  plot)  played  postman  at  her  ribs;  how  greatly 
Captain  Brazenhead  behaved,  flourishing  the  party 
forward  out  of  Hants,  how  often  his  cap  was  in  his 
hand  to  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury,  how  often  her 
ear  at  his  tongue's  command.  I  cannot  stay  longer 
in  Winton  or  I  would  tell  you  myself.  It  shall  suffice 
to  say  that  Percival  pleased.  The  Prioress  liked 
handsome  persons  about  her;  Percival,  whose  nerves 
made  him  vivid,  looked  very  handsome  in  his  meek- 
ness, eagemess-on-the-leash,  and  high  colours.  They 
had  not  gone  very  far  before  a  chance  outburst  of  his 
in  the  French  tongue — he  sang  from  a  full  heart  and 
quite  unconsciously — gave  his  mistress  a  hint  that, 
if  the  new  lad  was  deficient  in  stable  knowledge,  he 
had  other  lore. 

This  happened  when  they  were  no  farther  on  their 
way  than  the  two  miles  of  deep  descent  and  gentle  rise 
which  bring  you  to  Headborne  Worthy  and  its  mirac- 
ulous Rood,  which  the  curious  may  still  see,  beaten, 
dumb,  blind,  but  portentous,  in  the  sacristy  of  that 
weathered  shrine — a  maimed  Titan  guarded  by 
heroes.  Sister  Guiscarda  had  vowed  a  candle  to  this 
image  should  she  be  delivered  from  the  face-ache  of 
the    previous   day.    She   was   delivered.    Captain 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  213 

Brazenhead  Judged  it  wise  to  put  a  prayer  out  to 
usury.  Mawdleyn,  in  this  hey-day  of  her  heart, 
must  needs  praise  the  kindly  Saints.  But  the  Prior- 
ess sat  her  saddle,  and  Percival,  seeing  his  true  love 
depart,  took  such  joy  in  her  mere  carriage  of  the  head, 
had  such  exuberant  savour  of  the  coming  day,  the 
coming  days,  the  coming  week,  which  he  should  spend 
in  her  fragrant  company,  that  as  he  loitered  dreaming 
by  the  gate  he  forgot  himself  and  began  to  sing: 

Si  cum  j'oi  la  Rose  aprochde, 
Un  poi  la  trovai  engroissee, 
Et  vi  qu'ele  iere  plus  creiie 
Que  ge  ne  I'avoie  veiie.  .  .  . 

The  Prioress  pricked  up  her  ears,  but  let  Percival's 
voice  go  wandering  on;  then  she  said,  "Come  hither, 
Piers."    Percival  started,  blushed,  but  obeyed. 

"Dost  thou  know  what  thou  singest  there?" 

"Yes,  please  you,  my  lady;  I  sang  the  Romaunt 
de  la  Rose.^' 

"Thou  hast  that  piece?" 

"I  had  all  of  it  by  heart  upon  a  time,  my  lady; 
but  have  lost  the  greater  part." 

"Begin,  if  you  please,"  said  the  Prioress;  so  Per- 
cival began: 

Maintes  gens  dient  quen  songes  ... 

and  had  got  as  far  as: 

Ou  vintiesme  an  de  mon  age, 

when  the  pilgrims  came  out  of  church,  and  a  chance 
shot  from  Mawdleyn's  eyes  threw  him  out.    He 


214  •      THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

helped  his  beloved  to  the  saddle,  he  shored  up  Sister 
Guiscarda  on  hers;  but  the  Prioress  did  not  budge. 
When  the  confusion  of  horses  was  over,  she  asked  her 
stirrup-boy  aloud,  whether  he  could  continue  this  or 
any  other  lay? 

"Madame,  if  it  please  you,"  said  Percival,  "I 
know  the  Romaunt  very  well ;  and  I  know  the  tale  of 
the  Twelve  Peers  and  Ganelon,  and  of  Gallien  le 
Rhetor e  (which  is  very  short),  and  also  that  of  Le 
/ouvencel,  a  didactic  piece.  Moreover,  I  know  that 
story  of  The  Proud  Lady  in  Amours,  which  they  call 
Blanchardyn,  and  also  Isofere  the  Hardy,  and  The 
Lays  of  Marie  de  France.  There  are  songs  in  The 
Ladies^  Orchard  which  I  can  sing  if  you  wish  for  them, 
and  another  in  the  Italian  tongue  which  begins  'In 
the  greenwood  I  found  a  shepherdess,'  and  certain 
Triumphs  of  Petrarch,  and  very  pleasant  sonnets 
which  he  wrote  to  the  dear  name  and  fame  of  Madame 
Laura,  his  mistress — any  of  these  I  can  sing,  which- 
ever the  company  desire " 

"Ah!"  cried  the  Prioress,  with  a  little  gasp,  "and 
the  airs  of  these  divine  inventions,  Piers — ^where  gat 
you  these?' 

"Madam,"  replied  he,  blushing  a  little,  "some  of 
the  airs  were  devised  by  me  for  the  lute,  some  in  plain- 
song,  and  some  in  pricksong  for  three  or  four  voices, 
and  some,  not  yet  considered,  I  hope  to  achieve  as 
I  go." 

"I  ask  you  now,"  said  the  Captain,  with  huge  de- 
light, "is  this  a  prodigy  I  have  procreated  or  not?" 
It  came  natural  to  him  to  suppose  himself  the  father 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  215 

of  such  a  boy;  and,  after  all,  a  nephew  is  not  far 
removed. 

The  Prioress  was  observing  the  speaker  with  grav- 
ity. Without  taking  note  of  Captain  Brazenhead's 
vaunt,  she  quietly  bade  him  go  on  where  he  had  left 
off.  The  obedient  lad  once  more  put  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back,  threw  up  his  chin,  and  rippled  out  his 
French  syllables  about  love,  with  his  own  love's  heart 
beating  a  little  above  his  own,  and  her  brown  eyes 
burning  through  the  top  of  his  head.  She  lent  him 
eloquence;  he  sang  clear  and  loud: 

Or  veil  eel  songe  rimaier 
Por  vos  cuers  plus  fere  esgaier 
Qu'amors  le  me  prie  et  commande.  .  .  . 

at  which  last  words,  if  the  Prioress  had  been  wary, 
she  could  not  have  failed  to  see  deep  call  unto  deep. 
For  Mawdleyn  dropped  her  eyes,  and  Percival's 
travelled  as  high  as  her  chin,  and  stayed  there. 
Two  others  saw  as  much  as  they  should,  namely, 
Captain  Brazenhead,  who  thought  it  too  good  to  last, 
and  Master  Smith,  the  mariner,  who  studied  Per- 
cival's nose. 

"Very  pretty,"  said  the  Captain  to  himself,  "but 
full  of  jeopardy."  He  broke  in  to  address  the  Prior- 
ess. "Madam,"  he  said,  "the  sun  warns  me  that  we 
should  proceed.  Let  us  have  my  nephew's  min- 
strelsy on  the  way  by  all  means;  but  let  the  ground- 
bass  be  our  horses'  hoofs.  We  have  a  far  road  ,to 
Alton  town." 


2i6  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

"This  swordsman  is  right,  my  lady,"  said  Corbet 
the  Scrivener.  "Let  your  ladyship's  boy  sing  as  he 
walks  by  your  ladyship's  foot." 

"I  could  have  sworn  by  Saint  John  that  there  was 
but  one  long  nose  in  a  pretty  face  in  all  this  world,'* 
the  Shipman  thought  to  himself.  "And  whom  have 
we  here?"  quoth  he.  The  Prioress  took  up  the 
Scrivener. 

"My  boy  shall  walk  by  my  foot  no  farther  than 
Alresford,"  she  said  with  decision.  "Young  man," 
she  turned  to  Percival,  "you  are  out  of  your  station, 
I  can  see.  I  will  look  to  your  advancement  if  I  love 
music." 

"I  thank  your  ladyship,"  says  Percival;  and  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  glossed  that  text  with  "Certainly,  I 
did  my  friend  Jack  a  good  turn  when  I  won  this 
throstle-cock.    'Tis  a  little  marvel  of  science." 

Now,  the  Prioress  would  have  had  the  Romaunt  of 
the  Rose  in  its  entirety,  though  it  should  have  lasted 
her  (as  it  would)  to  her  first  view  of  the  golden  angel 
on  Bell  Harry.  But  this  was  not  to  be.  By  the  time 
Percival  had  failed  at  the  three-hundred-and-fiftieth 
line,  the  company  was  feverish  for  something  which 
they  might  possibly  understand.  I  have  spoken 
somewhat  of  the  Shipman  who  travelled  with  them, 
who  came  from  Kingston-upon-HuU,  called  himself 
Richard  Smith,  and  thought  he  knew  Percival's  nose. 
This  was  a  bright-eyed,  confident,  chin-in-the-air 
kind  of  fellow,  a  golden-bearded,  apple-coloured  man, 
with  a  thin  wife,  very  much  (and  too  much)  at  his 
devotion,  who  studied  the  singing-boy  sideways  the 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  217 

whole  time  of  his  singing,  watched  his  feet,  his  fine 
long  hands,  his  sharp  httle  chin,  his  small  mouth,  his 
hot  little  eyes,  his  fine  long  nose.  He  smacked  his 
forehead  and  talked  to  himself,  he  explored  the  sky, 
the  downs,  the  birds  in  the  trees,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. He  could  not  put  a  name  to  his  memories. 
When  Percival  faltered,  tried  back,  caught  at  a  line 
ahead  and  could  not  work  up  to  it,  this  mariner  broke 
in  with  a  laugh. 

"Belay,  there,  shipmate,  give  over  your  lead," 
quoth  he ;  "you  cannot  bottom  it.  And  I,  dear  Lord, 
have  been  in  shoal  water  these  three  hours.  By 
Blackbeard  and  Whitebeard,  you  know  a  mort  of 
French  words,  and  all  of  them  different,  it  seemeth. 
Now,  I  would  like  to  know  of  you,  where  gat  you  all 
those  words?  For  you  and  I,  little  master,  are  not 
strangers." 

As  Percival  looked  startled  at  him,  "By  my  head 
and  heart,  Shipman,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead, 
"you  have  spoilt  a  pretty  dream  I  was  in.  For  to 
hear  those  fair  words  took  me  back  to  the  sack  of 
Orleans,  where  I  lay  lapped  in  plenty,  and  learned  that 
tongue  out  of  as  choice  a  mouth  as  your  wife  hath. 
I  have  a  mind  to  set  my  nephew  another  task. 
What,  Piers,  what,  gamebird,  have  at  you  in  Tuscan 
then!" 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  the  Prioress,  "let  Piers  alone.  He 
has  said  enough  for  his  turn." 

"Is  this  young  man  your  nephew,  soldier?"  asked 
the  Shipman.  Captain  Brazenhead  twisted  his 
moustachios. 


2i8  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

"I  would  like  to  see  the  older  man  who  denies  it," 
he  said,  with  a  glitter  in  his  eye. 

The  Scrivener,  who  feared  bloodshed  more  than 
he  feared  Captain  Brazenhead,  intervened  with  a 
hasty  suggestion,  that  he  supposed  the  friend  of  the 
Duke  of  Milan  might  have  as  many  nephews  as  he 
chose.  "Ah,"  said  the  Shipman  darkly,  "and  nieces 
— like  the  Pope — you  would  say!"  The  Captain 
half  drew  his  sword,  but  here  the  Prioress  stayed  him 
with  a  look.  A  tale  from  the  Scrivener  held  them 
as  far  as  their  lodging  at  Alresford  on  the  Hill. 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW  PERCIVAL  WAS  BOLD  AKD  THE  CAPTAIN  BOLD 

In  the  morning  very  early  Percival  Perceforest 
rose  from  his  bed  of  straw  in  the  stables,  and  busied 
himself  with  the  horses'  provand,  singing  softly  as 
he  worked, 

Now,  Winter,  go  away, 
And  hide  thy  white  array, 
Graiid  MagdaleruB — 

while  his  bedfellow,  the  true  stirrup-groom,  gibed 
as  he  lay.  Yesterday  and  yesternight  had  wrought 
wonders  with  the  young  man.  He  had  a  clear  colour, 
his  eyes  shone,  courage  tingled  in  his  fists.  So  much 
was  this  the  state  of  his  case  that  within  a  short  half- 
hour  of  his  rising  he  was  pommelling  that  other 
groom,  that  other  him  again,  as  if  all  his  future  bliss 
were  staked  upon  it.  Battle  was  cried  and  delivered 
in  the  inn-yard,  where  Captain  Brazenhead,  his  first 
flagon  on  his  knee,  sunned  himself  and  enjoyed  the 
game.  Discretion  was  no  part  of  that  great  man's 
equipment,  boldness  was  all.  "Stick  in  your  right, 
Piers — at  him  again!  Now,  now,  now,  land  him  on 
the  ear!  Ah,  foul  blow!  Swing  round,  boy — paff! 
now  let  drive — "  Such  were  his  vociferous  com- 
ments on  the  scuffling  youths.    In  less  time  than  it 

219 


220  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

has  taken  me  to  write  this  exordium  Percival  had  a 
black  eye,  his  colleague  a  mouth  full  of  red  teeth, 
many  of  which  he  was  forced  to  discard.  The  air 
was  thick  with  eyes  and  alarms;  Mawdleyn  Touchett 
strained  in  anguish  from  an  upper  window,  provoca- 
tively dishevelled;  Sister  Petronilla  watched  through 
a  chink  in  the  shutter;  the  Prioress  in  awful  majesty 
descended  to  the  yard,  and  required  the  truth.  The 
real  stirrup-boy,  whose  name  was  Jenkin,  said,  "This 
fellow  called  me  a  black  liar";  snorting  yet,  Percival 
added,  "And  that  art  thou,  my  man."  The  truth 
being  demanded,  Captain  Brazenhead  struck  in  with 
many  a  courtly  bow. 

"Dear  reverend  madam,"  he  said,  "now  we  may 
well  discern  the  truth  of  the  vulgar  saw.  Blood  will 
out.  I  speak  not  of  this  knave's  blood,  which  is  a 
very  disgustful  topic,  not  to  be  entered  on  so  early  in 
the  day;  but  rather  of  that  secret  fount  of  our  life 
which  we  call  a  man's  Blood:  meaning  his  strain — 
that  essence,  that  quick  ichor,  that  imparted  jet,  that 
spring,  that  far-descended  well,  which  wanders  from 
the  Navel  of  the  World  down  the  Protuberance  of 
Time,  searching  for  (but  when  to  find?)  the  Sea  of 
Eternity.  In  truth,  reverend  madam,  my  nephew 
is  something  lowly  placed  in  your  service.  For  look 
now,  had  he  been  where  Nature,  that  wise  parent, 
had  designed,  he  had  had  a  dagger  in  his  girdle  to 
insinuate  under  that  other's  girdle — ah,  he  had  car- 
ried a  sword!  Then  there  had  been  no  rough-and- 
tumble  of  fisticuffs,  madam:  no,  but  a  slick-out  and 
a  slick-in,  and  a  dead  knave  to  bury.    I  hope  I  make 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  221 

my  meaning  plain.  This  lout  angered  my  nephew 
as  he  was  loyally  (O  likeness  to  Apollo!)  serving 
Queen  Admeta — dear  madam,  forgive  an  old  Latin- 
ist,  incorrigible  dog.  My  nephew  says,  ^You  lie, 
knave!'  meaning  that  what  he  dared  to  say  of  your 
ladyship  was  far  from  the  truth — no  less.  My 
nephew  ups  and  smacks  him  on  the  chops;  head 
down,  fists  in  the  air,  lick-pot  comes  on  to  his  doom. 
One,  two — one,  two — my  nephew  lands  him  in  the 
teeth:  up  again!  down  again!  Sola!  My  nephew, 
at  the  cost  of  an  eye,  madam,  vindicates  his  own 
lineage  and  his  dear  mistress's  nobility;  at  the  cost 
of  one  eye,  observe.  I  hope  I  explain  myself,  dear 
reverend  madam."  Thus  the  Captain,  while  Per- 
cival  tried  to  temper  his  breath,  and  Jenkin  tested 
tooth  after  tooth. 

The  Prioress  looked  gravely  from  one  to  another — 
regardless  alike  of  her  niece  at  the  upper  window  and 
her  household  at  the  gate — at  the  engaging  candour 
of  Captain  Brazenhead,  whose  explanatory  hands 
still  showed  her  their  palms,  at  Percival's  flushed 
cheeks  and  heaving  chest,  at  Jenkin's  preoccupation 
with  the  ruin  of  his  teeth.  Mostly  she  looked  at 
Captain  Brazenhead — not  because  she  liked  him  the 
best;  for  Percival  was  handsome  and  master  of  the 
Romaunt  de  la  Rose,  whereas  the  Captain  was  neither; 
no,  but  because  he  was  her  chief  justification  for  what 
she  was  about  to  do.  The  Captain  put  his  lineage 
very  high,  assumed  lightly  certain  privileges  which 
she  held  dear.  If  this  personable,  scholarly  youth 
were  the  Captain's  nephew — and  who  proposed  to 
deny  it? — ^then  she  was  acting  Admetus  to  Apollo 


222  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

indeed.  Piers  had  played  a  gentleman's  part  with- 
out a  gentleman's  weapons;  he  had  a  soft  voice,  and 
knew  the  Romaunt  de  la  Rose.  She  must  reward 
Piers — and  she  did. 

"Piers,"  she  said,  "go  into  the  house  and  have 
your  eye  dressed.  Sister  Petronilla  will  see  to  it. 
You  say  that  you  have  acted  rightly:  I  am  sure  I  hope 
so.  I  will  talk  to  you  presently.  As  for  you,  Jenkin, 
I  shall  leave  you  to  the  care  of  Dan  Costard" — Dan 
Costard  was  the  Prioress's  chaplain,  a  fine  disciplina- 
rian— "but  I  hope  that,  before  you  see  him,  you  will 
clean  yourself.  Captain  Brazenhead,  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  timely  interposition." 
The  Captain  bowed.  He  held  the  lady  in  conversa- 
tion for  some  half  an  hour,  while  Percival  was  having 
his  eye  dressed — not  by  Sister  Petronilla.  His  own 
lineage,  and  by  implication  Percival's,  lent  him 
topics.  It  was  exceedingly  distinguished.  Assur- 
banipal,  King  of  Syria,  by  his  illicit  union  with 
Mantagyra,  daughter  of  the  Prince  of  the  Kurds,  was 
the  root  of  his  title.  Those  two  valiant  knights- 
errant,  Sir  Partenopex  of  Blois  and  Sir  Tyrant  the 
White,  figured  later  on,  about  the  time  of  King 
Uther  Pendragon  (inextinguishable  enemy  of  the 
Brazenheads) ;  and  Duke  Regnier  of  Genoa,  one  of 
the  twelve  Peers  of  Charlemagne,  was  a  collateral. 
Magnificent  as  this  pedigree  was,  the  Captain 
frankly  admitted  the  irregularity  of  the  tie  which 
bound  the  exalted  pair  from  whom  it  sprang;  but 
attributed  it  to  the  loose  state  of  manners  prevailing 
in  their  times,  the  darkness  all  over  the  moral  state, 
and  the  inexplicably  tardy  approach  of  the  Christian 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  223 

dispensation.  "All  this,"  said  he,  "I  know  as  well 
as  your  ladyship,  and  as  heartily  deplore  it.  But 
who  are  we,  to  judge  the  practices  of  ancient  kings  ? 
My  ancestor  of  Syria,  burthened  with  many  lawful 
wives  (another  deplorable  custom  of  his  age),  was 
hard  pressed,  what  with  his  domestic  and  political 
engagements.  There  may  not  have  been  a  priest 
handy  in  Kurdistan  at  the  time  he  fell  on  loving 
Madam  Mantagyra — it  is  probable  that  there  was 
not.  And  it  would  ill  become  me  or  my  nephew 
Thrustwood  to  impeach  an  union  of  hearts,  of  whose 
passionate  commingling  we  ourselves  are  the  late,  pale 
flowers.  With  all  this,"  he  concluded,  "I  vex  your 
ladyship's  good  ears,  that  your  ladyship  may  see  how 
ill-suited  my  nephew  must  be  in  a  stable  jacket,  re- 
duced to  double  his  two  fists  into  cudgels  for  lack  of 
a  fine  sword  to  grip.  I  make  bold  to  add.  Advance 
my  nephew,  you  do  honour  to  the  imperial  seed  of 
Assurbanipal  and  the  noble  (if  erring)  Mantagyra!" 
The  Prioress,  who  appeared  to  be  very  much  im- 
pressed with  this  long  recital,  after  thanking  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead,  returned  thoughtfully  to  the  house, 
but  not  in  time  to  see  the  bakn  which  Mawdleyn 
Touchett  was  applying  to  the  eye  of  the  Syrian 
imp. 

In  this  simple  manner  Percival  Perceforest  was 
advanced  from  stirrup-groom  to  secretary,  although 
he  could  lend  no  more  testimony  than  a  fine  colour 
to  his  kinsman's  account  of  his  ancestry.  This,  how- 
ever, he  lent  liberally,  with  a  modesty  so  becoming 
that  the  Prioress  gave  him  a  chain  of  fine  gold  for  his 
neck.    Alresford  furnished  forth  a  suit  of  brown 


224  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

velvet ;  he  now  rode  the  horse  which  formerly  he  had 
curried,  and  had  the  boy  in  his  service  with  whose 
teeth  he  had  littered  the  yard.  Thus  the  Fortunate 
Gods  seemed  to  favour  him,  or  rather  his  fistic 
ability.  His  place  was  now  by  the  side  of  his  mis- 
tress, between  her  and  Mawdleyn  Touchett. 

The  day  was  still  young  when  they  left  the  town, 
and  had  need  to  be,  for  they  were  to  reach  Waverley 
that  night,  and  hoped  to  pass  the  heat  of  noon  at 
Alton.  Again,  as  they  went,  they  began  with  min- 
strelsy, which  Percival  (out  of  a  full  heart)  could  pour 
in  a  flood.  And  now  the  lad  was  more  daring  than 
he  had  been.  "If  it  do  not  displease  your  lady- 
ship," he  said,  "I  shall  sing  you  a  ballad  of  my  own 
making,  which  is  in  honour  of  Saint  Mary  Magdalene 
— my  patroness,"  he  added  with  a  thankful,  tell-tale 
sigh.  Mawdleyn  Touchett,  knowing  that  song  of 
old,  looked  scared;  Sister  Petronilla  turned  up  her 
eyes;  and  Captain  Brazenhead  thought  it  prudent  to 
change  the  conversation. 

"The  conversion  which  I  wrought  by  means  of 
that  blissful  Saint  is  very  dear  in  my  mind,"  he  be- 
gan.   "The  Bashaw  Korouc,  I  remember,  met  me 

in  the  rocky  defiles  above  Ascalon "  but  the 

Prioress  said,  "Sing,  Piers,  of  Saint  Mary  Magda- 
lene," so  Percival  thrust  up  his  chin,  and  sang: 

Now,  Winter,  go  away, 
And  hide  thy  white  array, 

Gratid  Magdalenal 
Thy  pelt  is  all  too  rude 
To  drape  her  melting  mood— 

DomituB  Laus  amcmcBl 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  225 

Come,  April,  thou,  with  showers, 
Bring  daffodils,  wind-flowers, 

Gratid  Magdalena; 
Bring  in  the  young  lamb's  bleat. 
Soft  rain,  and  gentle  heat, 

DomiruB  Laus  amcetuBl 

Let  me  go  clothed  in  wet. 
Tears  be  my  carcanet, 

Gratid  Magdalence; 
Silver  my  extern  part. 
Deep  red  about  my  heart, 

DomiiKB  Laus  amceruBt 

Lady  of  sweet  unrest, 
Should  I  not  love  her  best, 

Gratid  Magdalems? 
Unquiet  go  I,  vmkist. 
Her  starved  rhapsodist, 

DomifUB  Laus  Amoena! 


"Thus  women  sing  of  women,  but  not  men  of 
women,"  said  Smith  the  mariner  to  his  wife.  "Here 
we  have  for  certain  old  Brazentop's  myey 

"What  hast  thou  to  do  with  that  since  I  am  with 
thee,  sweetheart?"  asked  she. 

"  More  than  Saint's  love  went  to  the  making  of  that 
song,  young  gentleman,"  was  the  judgment  of  Dan 
Costard,  the  bony  old  priest  from  Ambresbury. 

"We  needs  must  love  as  we  are  able,  sir,"  Percival 
replied.  "And,  for  my  part,  I  hope  Saint  Mary 
Mawdleyn  will  heed  my  crying  and  give  me  good 
comfort  in  the  end." 

"Comfort  is  the  man's  part  in  crying  matters," 


226  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

says  the  Shipman,  "and  comfort  I  have  in  my  pocket 
for  thee." 

"I  want  none  of  your  comfort,  I  thank  you,  Master 
Smith,"  Percival  cried:  to  which  the  Shipman  re- 
torted that  he  had  been  glad  enough  of  it  once  upon 
a  time.  With  a  tale  from  Dan  Costard,  which  has 
been  told  in  another  place,  the  day  wore  to  an  end. 
They  came  out  of  Hants  into  Surrey  by  the  sandy 
way  of  Farnham,  and  rested  that  night  within  sound 
of  the  tumbling  wiers  of  Wey,  in  the  guest-chambers 
of  the  Abbot  of  Waverley.  Percival  charmed  them 
to  sleep  by  his  sweet  singing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOW     PERCIVAL     ROSE     WHERE     CAPTAIN     BRAZEN- 
HEAD  EELL 

Next  morning  it  might  have  seemed  that  Percival 
had  reached,  and  over-reached,  his  zenith  of  ascen- 
sion. For  the  Prioress,  rising  too  early  for  Mass  and 
walking  abroad  to  meditate,  found  him  with  Mawd- 
leyn  Touchett  in  a  singular  situation.  The  girl,  in 
fact,  was  seated  by  a  fish-pond  with  her  feet  bare  and 
still  wet  from  the  water,  and  Percival  on  his  hands 
and  knees  before  her,  ardently  embracing  and  kissing 
those  same  wet  feet.  "Oh,  dearest  feet!"  he  was 
saying,  and  she,  "Ah,  foolish  boy!  ah,  foolish  boy!'* 
The  Prioress  coughed,  not  loudly;  the  cuckoo,  which 
happened  then  to  be  calling  over  the  meadows,  ob- 
scured the  discreet  sound.  So  Percival  pursued  his 
amorous  transports  and  Mawdleyn  suffered  the  rapt- 
ures afforded  by  such  homage  undisturbed.  "Boy 
and  girl,"  mused  the  Prioress,  "together  in  the  spring 
pastures;  flowers  all  about  them,  flowers  in  their 
faces,  flowers  making  sweet  their  breath.  Shall  not 
flower  lean  to  flower?  What  harm  do  they  do? 
They  have  all  life  before  them;  mine  is  rounding  its 
course.  Let  life  for  me  end  on  a  mallow  note.  This 
Piers  is  a  gentle  boy — ^good  blood,  I  feel  assured, 

227 


228  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

sings  in  him;  he  hath  not  a  pipe  so  true  for  nothing. 
And  if  my  niece  played  the  mischief  with  Perceforest, 
Piers  Thrustwood  shall  wash  away  the  stain.  Pretty 
dears,  I  will  not  disturb  them;  but  I  will  question 
Captain  Brazenhead  a  little  further." 

Questioned,  the  Captain  (who  had  been  picking 
rose  campions)  lifted  his  shoulders  to  his  ears,  lowered 
his  brows,  produced  indefinitely  his  mouth  to  meet 
them,  spread  his  palms,  then  solemnly  enfolded  his 
bosom.  He  gave  the  effect  of  an  inverted  arch,  and 
imphed  deference,  noble  humility,  some  philosophy, 
and  a  friendly  alliance  of  benevolent  neutrality. 
"Madam,"  he  said,  "may  I  not  add,  Reverend 
Friend,  these  pretty  plays  of  my  enamoured  nephew 
and  your  lovely  niece  may  end  (why  should  I  not 
say  it?)  as  they  ought  to  end.  If  I  applaud  my 
nephew's  sagacity,  may  you  not  in  turn  approve  this 
tribute  to  your  niece's  beauty?" 

"Why,"  said  the  Prioress,  "there  has  been  such 
tribute  paid  before — for  instance,  by  one  Perceforest, 
my  brother's  page.  Sincere  enough,  I  have  no 
doubt ;  but  tribute  is  to  be  valued  by  the  worth  of  the 
tributary." 

"Have  at  you  there,  dearest  madam,"  returned 
Captain  Brazenhead  warmly;  "have  at  you  there! 
If  we  are  considering  worth,  for  example!" 

"You  refer,  I  suppose,  to  King  Assurbanipal  and 
the  fair  Mantagyra?"  said  the  Prioress. 

"I  did  refer  to  their  Majesties,  I  confess,"  replied 
the  Captain.  The  Prioress  had  no  enthusiasm  for 
this  exalted  pair.    "I  fear,"  she  said,  "that  the  title 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  229 

and  estates  have  been  alienated  long  since.  Such 
things  would  have  appealed  to  my  brother  Sir  Simon's 
understanding  before  a  fine  descent.  As  for  lineage, 
indeed,  the  Touchetts  do  pretty  well." 

"Touchett!  Touchett!"  said  the  Captain,  "dear, 
dear,  dear!  Oh,  Touchett  is  a  good  Norman  house. 
Your  Rolf  Touchett  held  up  the  Bastard  at  Pevensey, 
I  believe.  Very  fair!  very  fair!  But  the  King  of 
Assyria,  but  the  Peer  of  Charlemagne,  Partenopex  of 
Blois,  Palmerin,  Tyrant  the  White!" 

"Captain  Brazenhead,"  said  the  Prioress  with  dig- 
nity and  point,  "when  you  exalt  your  house  at  the 
expense  of  my  own,  you  compel  me  to  ask  myself 
why  the  scion  of  Partenopex  of  Blois  took  the  trouble 
to  abduct  a  stable-boy  and  hide  him  naked  in  a 
ditch  on  Winchester  Meads?" 

"Thomas  on  the  Pavement!"  said  the  Captain  to 
himself.  "What  a  still  puddle  it  is!"  Aloud  he 
said,  "Rack  and  pincers,  madam,  could  not  force 
me  to  tell  you  what  that  boy  had  done,  or  how  far  he 
deserved  what  he  got."  This  was  perfectly  true, 
and  the  Prioress  believed  it.  "I  will  not  apply  such 
insistence,"  she  said  mildly,  "for  I  agree  with  you 
that  it  would  fail." 

"Ah,  madam,"  said  the  Captain,  taking  her  hand, 
"  you  and  I  know  the  world."  This  pleased  the  Prior- 
ess, who  did  not  immediately  perceive  how  little  it 
met  her  argument.  "Madam,"  the  Captain  went 
on  rapidly,  "if  my  dear  blood  is  perhaps  too  dear  to 
my  barren  loins;  if  in  default  of  lawful  issue — of  issue, 
I  should  say  (if  I  speak  the  whole  truth) ;  if  mindful  of 


230  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

my  ancient  race,  if  with  a  heart  overfull,  outvailing 
head  overtaxed ;  if  philogenous,  if  stirpiferous,  puffed 
with  pedigree,  prolific,  wily,  fertile  in  shifts,  if  one  and 
all  these  things  I  stand  naked  to  the  world,  do  you 
wonder,  dear  and  gentle  lady,  that  I  run  to  cloak 
myself  in  You  ?  If  by  the  hand,  a  shorn  lamb,  I  lead 
my  pretty  nephew;  if  I  bid  him  curry  your  nags, 
hold  your  stirrup,  batter  soft  your  cushion,  sing  to 
you,  tell  you  age-long  romance,  bear  your  napkin  on 
his  arm,  your  livery  on  his  King-begotten  back — if  I 
do  this,  why  do  I  do  this?  Because  I  love  the  boy, 
madam,  and  because — "  the  Captain  bared  his 
head,  kneeling,  "and  because  I  love  your  ladyship! 
Yes,  madam,"  he  went  on  bitterly,  "the  bloody, 
crafty,  notched,  maimed  old  soldier  is  touched  at  last! 
You  will  not  misunderstand  me,  I  know.  I  love 
indeed ;  but  as  Plato,  as  the  Seven  Sages,  as  Ptolemy, 
as  Hermes  the  Threefold  Mage,  as  the  Abbot  Am- 
monius,  as  Simeon  Stylites,  as  the  Venerable  Bede, 
might  love.  Spiritually,  that  is  inwardly,  in  the  skyey 
places,  under  the  shadow  of  angel's  feathers.  Is  it 
madness  to  love  so?  Then  Plato  was  mad,  then 
Venerable  Bede  was  an  ass.  Is  it  wicked  to  love  so  ? 
Then  it  is  wicked  to  seek  your  shelter  for  my  nephew's 
nakedness.  Is  it  hopeless?  Then  I  am  damned. 
Are  you  angry?  Then  I  hope  I  am  damned.  Are 
you  content?  Then  I  sing  Gloria  Tibi,  and. recall 
memories  of  my  good  mother,  at  whose  knee  I  learnt 
to  say,  Amo  te  devote! ^^ 

The  Captain,  out  of  breath,  but  filled  instead  with 
the  soft  wind  of  ecstasy,  rapturously  kissed  the  caught 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  231 

hand  of  the  Prioress.  She,  confused,  had  little  to  say. 
Percival  and  Mawdleyn,  who  came  upon  her  while 
their  mouths  were  still  much  too  close  together,  had 
still  less  to  say.  They  parted  as  by  a  thunder-shock 
and  stood  still,  their  heads  hanging  hke  tired  roses. 
"Children,"  said  the  Prioress,  "where  have  you 
been?" 

"I  walked  in  the  meadows,  if  it  please  you,  good 
aunt,"  says  Mawdelyn,  "and  Piers  has  dried  my  feet 
for  me." 

"Do  you  understand  this  service  then.  Piers,  as 
well  as  that  of  minstrelsy?"  asked  his  mistress. 

Percival  modestly  replied  that  he  had  done  his  best 
to  understand  it,  and  so  should  always  do  with  every 
office  which  might  please  her  good  ladyship.  They 
went  back  through  the  fields  to  hear  Mass  and  break 
their  fast.  The  buttercups  were  so  tall  that  they 
brushed  Mawdleyn's  knees  and  dusted  her  with 
gold — a  charming  sight,  which,  as  Captain  Brazen- 
head  remarked,  made  Danae  of  the  girl,  and  so  of 
Percival  an  object  of  contempt  to  all  high-minded 
men.  "Perceforest,  my  young  sprig,"  he  improved 
the  occasion  by  saying,  "the  pace  is  too  hot  to  last. 
We  cannot  stay,  you  and  T,  at  such  a  course.  We 
must  break  away,  Percival,  lest  we  be  broken." 
Percival  was  too  flushed  with  adventure  to  heed  him. 
"My  cup  is  full,  sir,  shall  I  not  drink?  For  such  a 
morning  as  this  I  would  contentedly  be  drubbed 
every  night  by  Sir  Simon  himself.  Oh,  her  feet !  Oh, 
her  tender  hands !  Oh ,  her  heart ! "  And  so  on,  and 
so  on.    All  this  filled  his  friend  with  disquiet. 


232  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

On  their  way  by  Crooksbury  to  Guildford  and  the 
White  Down,  Captain  Brazenhead  drew  from  the 
stores  of  his  garnered  experience  that  remarkable 
tragic  tale  which  decorates  another  page;  but  inter- 
esting as  it,  and  subsequent  comments  upon  it,  might 
prove,  great  press  of  matter  drives  me  forward  to 
Reigate.  Fear  of  congestion,  in  like  manner,  com- 
pels me  to  pass  over  the  noble  country  through  which 
winds  the  Pilgrim's  Way — Compton  and  Littleton 
Cross,  Saint  Catherine's  Chapel  on  the  side  of  a  chalk 
down,  Shalford  Meadows,  and  Shalford  Ferry, 
Guildford  town,  and  the  long  grass  road  which  draws 
you  up  to  Saint  Martyr's  Church  and  the  wooded 
ridge.  You  shall  picture  our  company  riding  there 
among  the  boughs,  and  guess  what  opportunities 
for  pilfer — stolen  looks,  stolen  touches,  half -heard 
sighs,  whispers,  vows:  "Dearest  feet!  dearest  feet!" 
and  "Ah,  foolish  boy!" — there  may  have  been; 
what  earnest  talk  also  held  the  Captain  to  the  side  of 
his  Prioress,  and  how  Master  Smith's  wife  lived 
silently  upon  the  sight  of  her  bluff  husband's  eyes. 
Those  galliard  eyes  were  njuch  intrigued  by  Percival's 
long  nose,  out  of  whose  shape  the  baffled  Shipman 
read  mystery,  a  long-lost  sweetheart  masquerading 
as  a  lad.  Captain  Brazenhead  for  a  terrific  rival, 
himself  for  a  flouted  man.  There  is  meat  for  a  tale 
here.  But  I  am  drawn  instead  to  Reigate,  a  red  town 
on  a  hill,  where  you  might  have  found  a  noble  Priory 
of  Austin  Canons,  with  great  welcome  for  their  Sis- 
ter of  Ambresbury;  a  large  inn  called  The  Chris- 
topher, and  a  little  beerhouse  named  The  Holy  Fish, 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  233 

Thither,  under  the  shades  of  evening,  Captain 
Brazenhead  drew  young  Percival  Perceforest,  his 
nephew  by  adoption,  sadly  against  inclination  and 
nature. 

"  By  Cock,  my  bird  of  the  bough,"  said  this  warrior, 
expostulant,  "thou  hast  had  thy  fill  of  toying  with  thy 
dear.  Work  of  men  is  now  on  hand,  battle- work, 
hack-and-hew,  blood  and  bones,  a  tragic  dish.  Am 
to  remind  you  that  you  are  beholden  to  me  ?  Never 
in  this  life,  I  hope." 

"I  shall  never  forget  my  duty  to  you,  sir,"  said 
Percival  warmly,  already  ashamed  of  his  back- 
sliding. 

"Why,  that  is  as  well,"  returned  the  Captain,  "for 
I  assure  you  there  will  be  every  temptation.  But,  in 
my  opinion,  you  hold  the  iron  and  should  strike  be- 
fore it  cools.  The  Prioress,  let  me  advise  you,  has  dis- 
covered (how,  I  know  not)  my  innocent  little  device 
at  Winchester;  and  although  I  was  able  by  my  arts 
to  give  her  a  check,  she  is  a  singling  hound,  of  whom 
God  alone  can  predict  (if  He  will)  how  soon  she  will 
be  nose-in-air  again.  Therefore,  Percival,  I  say. 
Time  is.  Cut  the  way  of  Holy  Thomas,  tuck  your 
sweetheart  under  your  arm,  take  the  road,  ride  with 
me — and  ho!  for  war  and  dead  men's  shoe-leather. 
How  does  this  strike  you?" 

It  seemed  a  delightful  plan  to  the  speaker,  whose 
surprise  was  extreme  when  Percival  drew  back. 
"What,  bawcock,  art  thou  faint?"  he  cried,  gener- 
ously putting  the  best  excuse  foremost.  But  Percival 
was  not  faint.    He  was,  on  the  contrary,  very  red; 


234  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

his  eyes  were  misty,  his  lips  dry.  He  had  to  use  his 
tongue  to  them  before  he  could  avow  the  shameful 
truth  to  his  benefactor. 

"Oh,  sir,"  he  faltered,  after  many  a  false  start. 
"Oh,  sir,  do  not  be  angry;  but  I  cannot  deceive  my 
mistress  much  longer." 

"Hey,"  cried  the  Captain,  "why?  does  she  smell 
smoke,  do  you  think?" 

"No,  no,"  Percival  assured  him;  "but  my  con- 
science  " 

"Lord  of  battles,  boy!"  the  Captain  roared,  "don't 
talk  of  conscience  to  me.  We  have  our  fortunes  to 
make!"     . 

"Let  it  be  then,"  says  Percival;  "but  I  dare  not 
add  robbery  to  my  fibs."  The  Captain  stopped  in 
mid-street,  and  raised  his  eyebrows  as  if  he  saw  a 
snake  in  the  gutter. 

"Robbery!"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "why,  what  are 
maidens  for  if  not  to  be  robbed?" 

"Sir,  sir,  the  Reverend  Prioress  would  be  robbed 
if  I  took  Mawdleyn  away,"  says  Percival.  The  Cap- 
tain gaped  at  him. 

"Well?"  he  said,  "why  not?  Why  are  we  here, 
knights  of  the  road  ?  Why  is  she  here  ?  Why  have 
I  told  so  many  falsehoods,  and  why  hath  she  be- 
lieved them,  hey?" 

"I  don't  think  she  hath  believed  them,  sir,'*  says 
Percival  humbly.  The  Captain  scratched  his  nose. 
"Tush!  I  must  be  sadly  out  then,"  he  said.  "Do 
you  think  it  was  Tyrant  the  White  she  stuck  at?" 

"Sir,  I  think  rather  it  was  Mantagyra  the  Kurdish 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  235 

princess.  But  Partenopex  of  Blois  seemed  to  me 
rather  a  hard  morsel." 

"Blois  is  good  enough,"  said  the  Captain;  "it  must 
have  been  that  rascally  Tyrant.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  had  hoped  that  Blois  would  edge  me  in  the 
other,  a  great  favourite  of  mine — especially  with  a 
lady  who  could  listen  all  day  to  the  Romaunt  of  the 
Rose.  And  now  I  remember  that  she  seemed  to  know 
something  about  my  little  contrivance  at  Winchester. 
Well,  well,  I  am  vexed  about  this.  But  everything 
conspires  to  further  my  counsel  to  you,  Percival. 
Cut  and  run,  my  twittering  finch,  cut  and  run." 

"Sir,"  said  Percival  doggedly,  "I  will  run  whither- 
soever you  bid  me  run;  but  I  shall  leave  Mawdleyn 
behind." 

"Then  you  tire  of  her?"  asked  the  Captain.  "I 
am  not  surprised.  The  girl  is  too  ripe  for  her  age. 
Thin  ones  pall  not  so  soon."  Percival's  little  eyes 
kindled. 

"Captain,"  he  says  hotly,  "I  love  my  Mawdleyn 
better  than  life  or  heaven ;  but  I  will  never  tempt  her 
to  wickedness." 

"You  will  find  that  quite  unnecessary,"  said  the 
Captain.  Percival  despaired,  and  changed  the  con- 
versation by  asking  abruptly,  What  was  the  duty 
about  to  be  put  upon  him,  which  he  was  quite  ready 
to  perform? 

"Why,"  says  the  Captain,  "it  is  this.  We  are 
about  to  visit  an  exalted  friend  of  mine,  here  in  this 
town  darkly  disguised  for  the  exact  purpose  of  meet- 
ing with  me.     He  is  a  gentleman  (at  present)  of 


236  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

greater  hope  than  fortune,  and  goes — oh,  hush!"  he 
sank  his  voice  to  a  rushing  whisper  which  could  have 
been  heard  across  the  street,  "and  goes — ah,  be 
mum! — by  the  name  of  CADE.  Master  John  Cade, 
Jack  Cade,  Jack  Mend-all;  so  those  who  love  him 
call  him.  But,  look  you  here,  his  name  is  Mortimer, 
seed  of  the  loins  of  King  Edward  the  Third,  twin- 
apple  on  the  stalk  which  holds  King  Edward  the 
Fourth " 

"King  Edward  the — oh,  sir!"  says  Percival  in  a 
tremble,  "why,  this  is  treason!" 

"Treason  it  fs,"  replied  the  Captain,  chuckling; 
"damnable  treason,  and  misprision  of  treason;  work 
for  Tower  Hill,  block-work,  chopping- work,  my 
Ganymede." 

"Is  it  this  that  you  would  have  me  do?"  Percival 
asks;  and  the  Captain,  taking  his  arm,  says — "It  is! 
It  is!" 

They  stroll  on  in  silence.  Presently  Percival  asks 
again,  How  he  can  serve  Mr.  Cade?  The  Captain 
became  very  frank. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "you  must  know  that  my  friend 
Mortimer  (call  him  Cade,  if  you  will),  although  of 
extremely  noble  descent,  is  in  this  pass,  that  he  can 
neither  read  nor  write.  Other  gentlemen  of  birth 
and  lineage  are  no  better  ofiF.  We  write  our  names 
in  blood,  ha!  And  here  are  our  stiles,  ha!"  He 
patted  his  hip.  "Now  Jack  Mortimer,"  he  went  on, 
"corresponds  with  the  D — e  of  B — y,  the  D — e  of 
Y— k,  my  L— d  of  M— h,  the  K— g  of  F—e"— these 
names  he  indicated  in  whispers — "and  hitherto  hath 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  237 

done  his  best  to  cope  therewithal  by  help  of  an  old 
monk  of  Bury,  a  Psalter,  and  the  Gesta  Romanorum. 
The  result  hath  been  that  Jack's  correspondence  is  in 
a  devil  of  a  mess.  Moreover,  the  monk  is  recently 
dead  of  a  surfeit.  You,  my  lamb,  having  the  Latin, 
the  French,  the  Burgundian,  the  Italian,  on  the  tip 
of  your  red  tongue,  you  I  had  designed  to  be  Jack 
Mortimer's  secretary,  from  the  moment  when  I  first 
saw  you,  slim  and  tearful  Uke  Niobus  the  Great,  in 
Winton  Minster.  You  say  that  you  have  deceived 
the  Prioress:  me  you  could  not  deceive.  I  saw 
tongues  playing  about  your  ingenuous  front;  every- 
thing you  have  done  since  has  but  confirmed  my 
opinion.  Now,  I  need  not  tell  a  youth  of  your  parts 
that  I  open  out  a  golden  road  for  you  to  travel.  Jack 
will  go  far.  He  is  ready  at  all  points.  His  men  line 
the  roads;  London  stirs  for  him;  Kent  calls  him  King. 
He  will  give  thee  a  manor  and  a  title,  for  thou  shalt 
be  his  right  hand.  Sir  Percival  Perceforest,  knight; 
Percival,  Baron  Perceforest;  my  lord  Viscount 
Perceforest;  our  trusty  and  well-beloved  Cousin  and 
Councillor   Percival,  by   the    Grace   of  Jack,  Earl 

of Where  the  devil  do  you   come  from,   my 

dear?" 

"From  Gloucester,  sir,"  says  Percival. 

"I  perceive  that  you  speak  the  truth,  for  you  call 
it  Glorster.  Then  you  shall  be  Earl  of  Gloucester, 
when  my  good  lord  R — d  is  P — e  of  W — s."  Thus 
comfortably,  as  the  Captain  mused  aloud  and  poor 
Percival  found  nothing  to  say,  they  reached  the 
shuttered  green  door  which  announced  by  a  sign  on 


238  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

a  string  that  it  was  that  of  The  Holy  Fish.  There 
hung  the  fish,  with  a  hole  in  the  shoulder  where  St. 
Peter's  thumb  had  held  it. 

"I  must  disguise  myself,  boy,"  says  the  Captain. 
"Mum's  the  word  now;  moonlight  work  begins. 
You  carry  innocence  all  over  your  face,  but  I  have 
a  plaguily  fly-by-night  appearance  and  must  by  all 
means  conceal  it." 

His  method  of  disguise  was  admirably  simple,  for 
he  merely  threw  his  riding-cloak  over  his  head. 
Thus  he  could  neither  see  nor  be  seen,  neither  de- 
ceive nor  be  deceived.  This  done,  he  made  Percival 
take  his  hand,  saying,  "Lead  on,  noble  colleague." 
Percival  followed  his  nose  into  the  doorway  of  The 
Holy  Fish. 

A  black-haired,  stout,  blotch-faced  man  sat  in 
dirty  shirt  and  breeches  at  a  tressel-board,  eating 
bacon  from  a  skewer.  A  jack  of  beer  was  at  his  el- 
bow, onions  reposed  in  a  basin  of  vinegar  beside  him ; 
all  about  his  feet  lay  letters,  parchments,  sealed  writs 
in  a  heap. 

His  companions  were  a  miller  in  his  cups  and  a 
Carmelite.  Percival  stood  modestly  in  the  open 
doorway,  still  holding  by  the  hand  the  muffled,  the 
motionless  Captain  Brazenhead.  The  eater  of  bacon 
frowned  upon  the  pair. 

"What  do  you  want,  knave?"  then  said  Master 
Cade,  for  this  was  he,  "and  who  is  your  mawmet  in  a 
shroud?"  Captain  Brazenhead  threw  off  his  dis- 
guise with  a  flourish.  "  God  help  this  realm.  Jack,  if 
I  deceive  even  thee!"  he  said  with  fervour.    Master 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  '239. 

Cade  resumed  his  bacon;  the  Carmelite  had  never 
stopped  eating  onions;  the  miller  went  to  sleep. 

Between  bites  the  great  revolutionary  asked  of  his 
friend,  Who  was  this  sprig  of  jessamy?  The  Cap- 
tain introduced  his  dearest  nephew-by-adoption. 
"He  hath  a  long  nose,"  said  Master  Cade,  "too  long 
for  my  taste.  We  are  sworn  foes  of  long  noses  in 
Kent,  as  thou  knowest.  What  are  we  to  do  with 
him,  Sol?" 

"He  was  bom  under  Sagittarius  the  Archer,"  says 
the  Captain,  "and  is  therefore  lucky.  Start  not  at 
his  nose:  I  tell  you  he  is  a  penman.  I  have  trained 
him  for  thy  secretary.  Jack!" 

Master  Cade  said  Humph!  to  this;  but  of  Percival 
he  asked,  "Where  gat  Sagittarius  your  father,  you  of 
the  body  of  your  mother?" 

"Sir,"  replied  Percival,  "I  fancy  that  Captain 
Brazenhead  spoke  tropically,  by  a  figure.  My 
father's  name  is  John  Perceforest ;  he  is  a  clothier  of 
Gloucester." 

"  You  said  he  was  an  archer,  Sol,"  said  Master  Cade. 

"I  spoke  exuberantly,  as  this  lad  says,  and  in  the 
tropics,"  the  Captain  admitted.  "Leave  his  father 
and  his  nose  alone.  Jack." 

"Stop  that  cackle,"  cried  Master  Cade,  who 
seemed  excited,  "and  let  me  get  on  with  the  boy. 
Now,  boy,  I  have  the  truth  of  thy  father  at  last.  Is 
that  nose  of  thine  his  or  thy  mother's?" 

"My  mother,  sir,  had  a  longish  nose." 

"Losh!"  said  Master  Cade.  "Now,  who  was 
your  mother?" 


240  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

"My  mother  is  dead,  sir." 

"I  asked  you  not  what  she  is!"  Master  Cade  was 
very  testy.  "Plague!  will  you  prevaricate  with  me? 
I  asked  you  who  she  was." 

Percival  answered,  "She  was  very  well  descended, 
sir,  as  I  have  been  told.  Her  name  before  wedlock 
was  Jane  Fiennes." 

Master  Cade  grew  livid.  "Lord  of  Might!  And 
with  a  nose  like  that!"  He  paused  to  breathe; 
presently  asked,  "And  whence  came  your  Jane 
Fiennes?" 

"She  came  from  Kent,  sir,"  says  Percival.  Cade 
threw  up  his  hands  and  brought  them  down  with  a 
crash  on  the  table.  The  miller  rolled  on  to  the  floor, 
and  the  Carmelite  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

"If  I  knew  not  his  nose  among  a  hundred!  Jane 
Fiennes's  son,  Jane  Fiennes's  son!"  Master  Cade 
was  much  perturbed.  "Do  you  know  who  you  are, 
young  gentleman?"  Thus  he  accosted  Percival, 
who  answered,  "An  honest  lad,  sir,  if  it  please  you." 

"Honest!"  cried  Master  Cade,  "honest!  you  are 
better  than  that,  I  hope.  King  Melchior!  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  are.  You  are  nephew  of  Lord  Say,  that's 
what  you  are!  Nephew  and  apparent  heir,  that's 
what  you  are!  And  you  hope  yourself  honest! 
Why,  sir,  you  may  be  a  peer  of  this  realm.  No  need 
for  honesty  then,  I  hope.  Honest,  quoth  he!"  He 
changed  his  tune  abruptly,  and  turned  to  the  com- 
placent Captain  Brazenhead.  "Didst  thou  lay  this 
trap  for  me,  old  gallows?"  asked  his  chief. 

"I'll  not  deny  it,  Jack,"  said  the  Captain. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  241 

"It  will  serve  my  turn,"  says  Cade,  "or  may  do. 
When  we  have  cracked  the  old  thief's  skull  at  Seven- 
oaks,  we'll  set  up  this  slip  of  willow  in  his  place,  and 
have  a  lord  on  our  side.  Do  you  smell?  Are  you 
fly?" 

The  Captain  smelt,  and  was  very  fly.  "Let  me 
talk  to  my  honoured  young  friend,"  he  said,  and  drew 
Percival  apart. 

"Now,  Percival,"  he  began,  "it  appears  that  you 
are  in  a  fair  way.  Your  mother  was  Lord  Say's  sis- 
ter, and  none  the  worse  in  that  her  brother  is  an  old 
cut-throat,  ill-beseeming  dog.  You  are  heir  to  the 
wicked  man  your  uncle.  Now  I  propose  to  you  an 
honourable  game,  fitting  to  your  name,  degree,  ex- 
pectation, and  parts.  You  shall  stand  in  with  the 
noble  Mortimer  and  me.  We  raise  all  Kent,  attack 
Sevenoaks,  slay  your  uncle  at  leisure.  You  come 
into  title  and  estates,  marry  your  little  Touchett  (if 
she  still  content  you),  and  reward  us  after  your  own 
generous  notions.  Do  you  see  your  way  clear?  I 
protest,"  cried  the  delighted  Captain,  embracing  his 
young  friend  warmly,  "I  protest  that  is  as  work- 
manlike a  little  cabinet  of  villainy  as  I  have  ever  com- 
passed! What  is  more,  it  will  be  of  real  service  to 
you." 

But  Percival  did  not  see  his  way  to  the  murder  of 
his  uncle,  and  told  Captain  Brazenhead  as  much  with 
tears  of  shame  in  his  eyes.  "Dear  sir,"  he  said,  "I 
know  not  what  you  will  think  of  me — ^ungrateful) 
unworthy  of  your  continual  favours,  I  owe  you  all  my 
earthly  happiness;  but  do  not  ask  me  to  kill  my 


242  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

mother's  brother.  I  will  die  for  you,  or  at  your 
hands,  if  you  choose;  but  I  cannot  dabble  in  my  own 
blood.  Slay  me  now,  Captain  Brazenhead,  where  I 
kneel" — and  kneel  he  did — "and  let  Percival  die 
blessing  the  hand  that  fells  him."  The  Captain, 
profoundly  touched,  raised  him  up  and  kissed  him. 
"Your  sentiments,  my  Percival,  do  you  honour," 
he  said,  "though  I  deplore  their  effect  upon  my  plans. 
I  must  consider  what  will  be  best  to  do  now,  for  I'll 
be  hanged  if  I  know  offhand." 

Master  Cade  had  a  way  of  his  own.  "  If  the  young 
gentleman  can't  help  us,  Sol,"  says  he,  "we  had  bet- 
ter help  ourselves.  We  should  put  a  winger  into  him 
at  once,  I  believe.  He  must  never  leave  Reigate 
alive."  The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "No,  no, 
my  Trojan,"  he  replied,  "that  is  a  short-sighted  way 
to  work.  You  may  trust  Mr.  Perceforest,  I  am  sure.'* 
He  added  in  a  low  voice,  "A  friendly  Lord  Say  will  be 
better  than  two  dead  ones,  you  fool;  let  the  boy  go." 
Turning  to  Percival,  he  kissed  him  again,  saying, 
"Remember  your  old  Brazenhead  in  after  years; 
for  now  I  must  bid  you  farewell.  If  I  have  served 
you,  I  am  glad.  I  love  you,  my  boy,  and  shall  pray 
for  you  every  day.  Note  this  also.  You  shall  do 
wisely  to  force  your  pilgrims  on  their  way  with  all 
speed.  Kent  will  be  on  fire  within  a  week.  At 
Canterbury  you  shall  see  either  myself  or  my  ghost. 
Farewell." 

"Farewell,  dear  Sir,"  said  Percival  brokenly. 
They  parted  affectionately,  like  father  and  son;  Per- 
"cival  went  out  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VII 

INCIDIT    EST    SCYLLAM,    CUPIENS    VITARE    CHARYBDIM 

The  Captain  gone,  not  without  comment  and  dis- 
cussion, in  which  Percival's  explanation  played  a 
poor  part,  our  young  man  found  himself  involved  in  a 
new  difficulty.  Smith  the  Shipman  located  his  long 
nose.  "Gloucester  knew  that  nose  of  thine,"  he 
declared,  "as  I  do  verily  believe.  But  her  name  was 
not  Thrustwood — no,  nor  nothing  like  Thrustwood." 
Percival  did  not  deny  that  he  had  been  bom  in 
Gloucester.  "I  would  like  to  see  thee  deny  it,"  said 
the  Shipman.  "I  would  swear  to  thy  long  nose  and 
button  mouth  before  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London. 
And  how  comest  thou,"  he  asked  reproachfully, 
"how  comest  thou  tramping  after  a  wicked  old  toss- 
pot mercenary  on  pretended  pilgrimage,  all  in  a 
page's  breeches  ?  Fie  upon  such  unwholesome  deal- 
ing!" Percival  grew  very  angry,  as  well  he  might; 
whereupon  the  Shipman  turned  his  gall  to  tenderness. 
"Child,  I  loved  thee  once;  pledges  we  exchanged,  we 
split  a  coin.  I  vowed  I'd  never  forget  thee,  upon  my 
soul."  "I  vow  that  I  have  never  seen  you  before,  sir, 
in  all  my  life!"  cried  Percival  hotly,  "nor  your  good 
mistress  either!"  "Jealousy,"  quoth  the  Shipman, 
"jealousy  is  the  mother  of  lies.    What  is  my  wife  to 

243 


244  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

thee  or  to  me,  who  cry  back  old  dead  days?"  But 
here,  happily,  that  same  lady  came  out  to  show  what 
she  was  to  her  lord:  "Tease  not  the  boy,  honey,  tease 
me!"  Thus  she  wooed  him,  and  left  Percival  to  his 
other  anxieties.  These  were  to  get  his  people  well 
on  the  road  before  it  was  taken  by  the  grim  Captain 
Cade,  and  to  ponder  how  he  could  save  his  mistress's 
skin,  his  own  skin,  and  the  skin  of  his  exalted  uncle. 

By  ten  of  the  clock — so  successful  was  he — the 
whole  train  was  in  the  Vale  of  Darent.  They  baited 
at  Otford  under  the  shadow  of  the  Archbishop's 
house,  whence,  if  Percival  could  have  known  it,  he 
might  have  seen  the  threatened  turrets  of  Knole  high 
on  the  wooded  hill  of  Sevenoaks.  From  that  place 
a  very  agreeable  tale  from  the  Prioress  took  them 
peacefully  to  Wrotham,  where  they  stayed  out  the 
heat  of  the  day.  If  Mawdleyn  had  to  complain  that 
her  lover  was  cold,  she  did  him  an  injustice.  He  was 
consumed  with  fear  on  her  account.  The  country  was 
ominously  quiet,  with  no  pilgrim-booths  in  Wrotham 
town,  no  folk  in  the  inns,  few  houses  that  had  not 
shutters  over  the  windows.  They  had  halted  at  a 
smithy  a  few  miles  out  of  the  town:  "You  must  limp 
it  on  three  feet,  master,"  was  the  answer  Percival 
got.  "There  is  not  a  scrap  of  iron  short  of  Maid- 
stone, I  do  believe."  "What  have  you  done  with 
your  iron,  master?"  asks  Percival.  "Ah,"  says  the 
farrier,  "that  is  telling."  A  bad  answer:  but  worse 
was  to  come. 

After  dinner,  going  by  the  well-worn  lane  that  lies 
snug  under  the  bosom  of  the  hill,  they  reached  a  little 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  245 

place  called  Trottesclive,  some  three  miles  from 
Wrotham.  Here  were  an  inn,  a  village-green,  a 
spreading  sycamore  with  a  sign-post,  a.  stocks,  and  a 
pound.  Here  also  was  an  armed  assembly  of  peas- 
ants, a  priest  at  their  head,  marching  the  opposite 
way,  with  ribald  songs  about  Jack  Nape  and  Harry 
our  King.  Now  Jack  Nape  was  the  name  they  chose 
to  give  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  and  the  scythes,  bills, 
falchions,  glaives,  and  other  weapons  they  flourished, 
boded  no  good  to  Harry  their  King.  There  was 
much  confusion  here :  the  men-at-arms  of  the  Prioress 
at  once  became  none,  by  throwing  down  their  pikes 
and  falling  upon  their  knees.  Half-a-dozen  rascals 
roared  "Down  with  the  fat  minchin!"  half-a-dozen 
others  snatched  up  the  discarded  pikes.  Dan  Cos- 
tard showed  his  mettle.  "We  are  Saint  Thomas's 
pilgrims,  you  rogues,"  cried  he.  "Touch  us  in 
jeopardy  of  Saint  Thomas;"  and  Percival,  resenting 
extremely  their  reference  to  the  Prioress's  condition 
in  this  world,  drew  his  dagger. 

The  Shipman  leapt  off  his  horse  and  caught  the 
poor  young  man  round  the  waist.  "Vex  not  thy 
pretty  hands  with  a  man's  tools,  my  fair  chuck,"  he 
said  coaxingly.  "What  if  thy  disguise  should  un- 
disguise  thee?" 

"Avoid  me,  by  heaven,  you  red  fool!"  cries  Per- 
cival in  a  fury.  "What  have  you  to  do  with 
me?" 

"Love,  my  hidden  treasure!"  said  Master  Smith, 
"I6ve  is  my  goad.  I  know  what  I  know."  Percival 
flamed  up. 


246  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

"Get  you  gone,  look  after  your  wife,  master,  and 
don't  talk  your  balderdash  to  me,"  he  said  with  his 
teeth  together.  The  Shipman  replied  that  tempest 
suited  a  pretty  lass  better  than  a  fiat  calm;  so  women 
were  not  like  the  sea.  Percival  stared  open-mouthed 
at  him.  "What  is  your  meaning?"  he  said  aghast. 
Master  Smith  might  have  told  him,  had  he  not  been 
recalled  to  his  wife's  side  by  her  shrill  complaining. 
Once  more,  therefore,  that  thin  woman  set  Percival 
free.  He  turned  to  the  fray;  but  this  had  been  com- 
posed by  a  colloquy  between  Dan  Costard  and  the 
priest,  the  leader  of  the  rabble. 

The  peasants,  it  seemed,  were  marching  to  Seven- 
oaks,  to  meet  (it  was  obvious  to  Percival)  Captain 
Brazenhead  and  Captain  Cade.  The  youth  could  not 
see  without  emotion  so  many  scythes  turned  to  the 
dismemberment  of  his  uncle,  my  Lord  Say.  He  felt 
the  call  of  blood  as  well  as  the  admonitions  of  piety. 
"  Strange ! "  he  thought.  "  Yesterday  I  did  not  know 
that  his  lordship  was  my  uncle,  and  to-day  I  must 
risk  my  life  to  save  his.  But  it  is  so!"  He  there- 
fore accosted  the  rebel  priest  in  the  gentlest  manner 
he  could,  inquiring  whether  he  was  leading  his  forces 
against  any  person  of  consequence.  "There  is  a 
worthy  man  dwelling  by  Sevenoaks,"  he  added,  "my 
uncle,  whose  estate,  though  it  should  fall  to  me  by 
the  fact,  I  would  not  willingly  have  disturbed."  The 
priest,  having  looked  him  up  and  down,  said,  "Bless 
your  innocence,  young  man,  we  shall  never  hurt  any 
uncle  of  yours."  Percival  could  afford  to  say,  "I 
wish  I  could  believe  it."    " But,"  he  went  on,  "I  fear 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  247 

the  worst  from  what  I  know  of  Master  Mortimer, 
your  friend." 

"Ha!"  says  the  priest,  "so  you  know  something." 
Says  Percival,  "Yes,  I  do."  The  priest  rubbed  his 
chin. 

"And  did  he  intend  any  mischief  against  your 
uncle,  young  gentleman?" 

"I  do  verily  think  so,"  says  Percival. 

"Then,"  said  the  other,  "either  you  are  not  what 
you  appear,  or  Master  Mortimer's  net  hath  a  small 
mesh."     The  Shipman  cut  in  again. 

"If  he  is  what  he  appears  to  you,"  he  said  strongly, 
**then  I  am  a  nun." 

"And  if  he  is  not  what  he  appears  to  you  and  to 
me,"  cried  the  Scrivener,  very  much  excited,  "then  I 
was  neither  deaf  nor  blind  at  Winchester,  and  do 
know  his  name,  and  can  shrewdly  guess  at  that 
of  his  uncle." 

"  My  reverend,"  said  Percival,  who  thought  it  safer 
to  take  no  notice  of  this  interruption,  "I  may  not  tell 
you  my  uncle's  name,  lest  you  should  do  a  mischief 
to  those  I  serve  here  as  faithfully  as  I  can.  Alack! 
I  have  too  many  interests  to  serve,  I  think.  But  I 
will  ask  you  to  take  a  message  for  me  to  a  hidden 
nobleman  who  passes  under  the  name  of  B — d" 
(he  sank  his  voice  in  uttering  the  word  of  power), 
"  Captain  S — ^n  B — d.  Are  you  acquainted  with 
him?"  the  priest  scratched  his  head. 

"  Is  it  a  wondrous  hairy  man  ?  Hath  he  a  forest  on 
his  nose,  hairs  on  his  lip  and  chin,  and  fierce  hairs 
which  push  upwards  on  his  throat  like  ivy  on  a  stock  ? 


248  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

Is  it  a  loud  talker,  speaking  of  things  which  he  knows 
little  about,  and  the  loudlier  speaking  the  less  he 
knoweth?  Is  he  a  kidnapper  and  a  horse-stealer  ? 
And  doth  he  affect  the  use  of  tongues?" 

"In  many  things  you  have  rightly  drawn  the  man, 
but  in  the  accusation  of  various  crimes  I  hope  you 
are  wrong  towards  him,"  Percival  replied  with  guilty 
knowledge  painting  his  ingenuous  face.  "At  least  I 
suppose  him  to  be  the  hairiest  man  in  this  realm. 
Tell  him  from  Piers,  that  if  he  loves  yet  the  youth  he 
loved  once,  he  will  do  nothing  to  hasten  the  inherit- 
ance nor  his  own  reward."  The  priest  winked  one 
eye  as  he  said, 

"  Your  message  is  dark.     But  shall  I  not  essay  it  ?  " 

"Hush,  oh  hush!"  Percival  whispered,  finger  on 
lip;  "you  will  undo  me." 

"Tush,  my  lord,"  quoth  the  priest,  "all  shall  be 
well."  He  left  Percival  in  a  cold  sweat ;  and  having 
made  him  a  profound  reverence,  drew  off  his  people, 
who  went  with  songs  and  cheering  for  Jack  Mend-all. 
Percival  resumed  his  escort  with  a  heavy  heart,  and 
in  due  time  had  all  safe  under  the  shadow  of  the 
famous  Rood  of  Boxley.  He  could  not  fail  to  observe 
the  added  respect  with  which  the  Scrivener  treated 
him,  and  was  minded  to  turn  that  honest  man's  skill 
to  his  own  advantage  before  it  might  be  too  late. 

For  although  he  knelt  before  the  sacred  and  won- 
der-working Image  by  the  side  of  his  tender  Mawd- 
leyn,  yet  the  Image  cast  its  spells  in  vain.  He  drew 
no  comfortable  assurance  out  of  the  rolling  eyes  and 
wagging  head  which  made  the  vulgar  admire;  but 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  249 

the  place  held  an  awe  for  him  apart  from  all  that; 
and  the  conviction  settled  down  with  a  weight  of  lead 
in  his  heart  that  now  or  on  the  morrow  he  must  un- 
bosom himself  to  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury.  And 
was  that  to  be  the  end  of  his  fond  adventure  ?  Was 
he  to  be  hounded  out  of  the  Prioress's  livery  as  Sir 
Simon  had  hounded  him  out  of  his?  Sir  Simon  had 
whipped  him  for  pilfering;  might  not  her  Reverence 
do  as  much  for  fibbing  ?  Percival's  was  that  girlish 
nature  that  clings  the  faster  for  stripes:  he  knew  that 
the  end  was  not  to  be  then,  for  Mawdleyn  was  just 
such  another  as  he,  and  when  girl's  nature  loves 
girl's  nature  the  bond  will  never  be  broke.  Was 
such  a  love  as  his  to  be  strangled  by  a  confessed  fib  ? 
Could  he  abandon  his  dear,  soft,  loving  maid  because 
his  name  was  Perceforest  and  not  Thrustwood  ?  He 
saw  Mawdleyn's  long  lashes  brush  her  cheek,  saw 
her  folded  hands,  her  lovely  meekness:  he  felt  lifted 
up.  Ah,  for  her  sake  he  had  had  thwackings  on  his 
back,  for  her  sake  had  lain  in  ditches  o'  nights,  had 
begged  crusts  at  farmers'  doors,  had  sung  dishonest 
songs  to  thieves  and  their  drabs  in  tap-rooms  at  mid- 
night. For  her  sake  he  had  been  Captain  Brazen- 
head's  nephew,  scion  of  the  race  of  Assurbanipal  and 
Tyrant  the  White,  he  had  hobnobbed  with  treason, 
been  misconceived  by  Smith  the  Mariner,  loosened 
one  groom's  teeth,  indirectly  drowned  another,  gained 
a  black  eye  and  deceived  a  noble  lady  who  was  so 
benevolent  as  to  love  him.  "Sweet  Madonna!"  he 
cried,  "how  I  have  deceived  mankind!  Sir  Simon 
Touchett  thinks  I  am  a  common  footboy,  whereas  I 


250  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

am  heir  to  a  lord;  Captain  Brazenhead  thinks  I  am 
a  rebel,  and  Captain  Cade  thinks  I  am  not;  the  Prior- 
ess thinks  me  Piers  Thrustwood;  Mawdleyn  must 
think  me  a  liar — ^which  I  am;  and  Master  Smith  be- 
lieves me  a  Glo'ster  girl,  discreditably  attached  to 
(and  forsaken  by)  Captain  Brazenhead.  Alone  in 
my  world,  the  Scrivener  knows  me  for  Percival  Perce- 
forest,  the  heir  of  Lord  Say;  and  I  am  bound  to  admit 
that  him  too  I  should  have  deceived  if  I  had  thought 
him  worth  the  while.  Is  there  nobody,  then,  to 
whom  I  have  not  fibbed  or  wished  to  have  fibbed? 
Yes:  I  had  forgotten  Dan  Costard.  That  good  man 
is  under  no  misconception  as  to  my  real  person,  be- 
cause he  has  never  troubled  his  head  about  me.  To 
him  I  will  impart  my  secret.  If  I  am  to  receive  the 
Sacrament  at  Canterbury,  I  must  confess  to-morrow. 
He  shall  shrive  me."  He  concluded  tearfully  in 
prayer,  and  so  remained  until  the  Prioress  rose  from 
her  knees  and  took  Mawdleyn  to  bed.  Full  of 
resolutions  for  the  morrow,  Percival  also  went  to 
bed. 

But  Captain  Smith  drew  the  Scrivener  apart  by  the 
parlour  fire  and  said,  ''Tell  me  the  name  of  that 
young  spitfire  of  the  Prioress's." 

"His  name,"  said  the  Scrivener,  "on  his  own  con- 
fession, mind  you,  is  Perceforest." 

The  Shipman  clapped  a  hand  to  his  thigh  with  a 
noise  like  a  carter's  whip. 

"Perceforest!"  he  thundered.  "Perceforest  of 
Gloucester!  I  remember  the  lass  to  a  hair — long- 
nosed,  thin,  snuggling  girl — spoke  softly  and  kept 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  251 

her  eyes  cast  down.  She  had  a  trick  of  biting  her 
finger  I  recall,  very  captivating  to  youth.  Sometimes 
it  would  be  the  corner  of  her  apron — better,  as  being 
less  fanciful.  Why,  man  alive,  she  used  to  lean 
against  the  door-post  in  Hare  Lane  by  the  hour  to- 
gether, and  all  the  evening  through,  listening  to  my 
protestations  and  tales  of  the  sea — and  be  at  that 
fingering  game  all  the  while!  Sakes  of  me,  if  I  re- 
member that  long-nosed  wench  or  not.  And  her 
name  was  Perceforest — now,  now,  now,  was  it  Moll 
Perceforest?  or  Nance?  It  was  Nance.  It  was 
never  Nance  ?  What  did  she  say  her  name  was,  old 
parchment?" 

''I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  my 
good  friend,"  said  the  Scrivener,  "and  my  name  is 
Corbet,  descended  from  Madam  Alys,  Countess 
Dowager  of  Salisbury."  The  Captain  clawed  the 
Scrivener  by  the  knee. 

*'Her  name  was  Jenny,"  he  shouted,  "Jenny 
Perceforest,  christened  Jane!  Eh,  by  the  Beacon  of 
our  Faith,  I'll  remind  her  of  that  i'  the  morn !  Now,'* 
he  pondered,  "how  did  old  Brazenguts  get  hold  of 
such  a  good  girl  as  that  ?  And  why  did  she  traipse 
after  him  across  all  those  shires  in  a  pair  of  cloth 
breeches?  Is  it  pure  devotion  to  Thomas?  Is  it 
want  of  heart  in  the  man?  It  is,  by  heaven!  For 
why?  He  has  cut  and  run.  Oh,  I'll  have  it  out  o' 
Jenny  i'  the  mom." 

"You  shall  do  what  you  please,"  replied  the 
Scrivener,  tired  of  all  this,  "but  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"Put  me  on  to  a  dexterous  way,"  said  Captain 


252  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

Smith  earnestly;  "give  me  my  sailing  orders,  and  I 
steer  dead  into  the  heart  of  Jane." 

"She,  as  you  call  him,  will  deny  you  point-blank, 
as  I  take  it,"  was  the  Scrivener's  judgment. 

"I'll  wake  her  up  with  a  parable,"  said  Captain 
Smith.  "I'll  tell  her  a  tale  to-morrow  will  open  her 
eyes." 

"You  had  much  better  leave  that  to  me,"  said  the 
Scrivener.  "I  know  more  tales  of  wonder  and  ro- 
mance than  you  know  creeks  and  bays  of  England." 

"Then  keep  your  tales  of  wonder  and  romance  as 
I  keep  the  creeks  and  bays  of  England,"  said  Captain 
Smith;  "and  that  is  until  I  want  'em  to  run  to.  This 
is  my  venture." 

"It  should  also  be  your  wife's  venture,  if  she  is  the 
fond  woman  I  think  her,"  the  Scrivener  observed, 
with  one  eye  more  open  than  the  other. 

"My  wife,"  replied  Captain  Smith,  "knows  her 
duty,  I  believe;  and  if  you  come  to  that,  where's  the 
harm  of  old  acquaintance?  Why,  I  knew  Jenny 
before  my  wife  knew  the  Christian  Dispensation. 
My  wife  was  a  heathen  Norse  when  I  was  playing 
hunt-the-slipper  wi'  Jane.  And  if  a  man  that  hath 
travelled  the  lumpy  seas  may  not  have  a  bit  o'  fun 
wi'  a  long-nosed  girl  he  hath  known  in " 

The  Scrivener  had  gone  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW  PERCIVAL  GOT  MORE  THAN  HE  DESERVED,  THE 

SHIPMAN  LESS,  AND  CAPTAIN  BRAZENHEAD  HELD 

OCCASION  BY  THE  TAIL 

After  the  conversation  of  the  preceding  night,  the 
Shipman  became  reproachful  in  his  tone  to  Percival. 
He  disregarded  the  young  man's  protests  that  he  was 
not  his  own  sister,  that  she  was  a  mother  of  five  at 
Moreton-in-Marsh,  and  nearly  twice  his  age.  "If  so 
be,  Jenny,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  mother  of  five 
lawful  imps,  the  greater  the  shame  of  your  cropped 
head.  To  dance  attendance  upon  an  Italianate  cut- 
throat, an  ambusher,  a  blood-pudding  man,  with 
husband  and  babes  crying  at  home — fie,  Jenny, fie! 
But  you  and  I,  my  girl,  shall  be  friends  yet.  You 
have  not  seen  the  last  of  Dick  Smith."  Percival 
despaired ;  but  in  point  of  fact  his  persecutor  seemed 
to  give  himself  the  lie,  for  he  left  the  Prioress's  party 
at  Charing  and  hastened  on  to  Canterbury  direct, 
leaving  his  wife  behind  him. 

They  reached  Harbledown  by  early  afternoon,  and 
stayed  there  for  a  few  hours,  hard  by  the  lazar-house 
of  Saint  Nicholas.  It  was  held  improper  to  enter 
Canterbury  unshriven;  there  was  hard  work  before 
Dan  Costard  before  any  of  them  dared  so  much  as 
look  for  the  gold  Michael  on  Bell  Harry's  top.     The 

253 


254  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

lepers  came  clattering  out,  the  good  brothers  who 
served  them  took  the  horses,  the  Prioress  with  her 
company  went  into  the  Chapel,  to  touch  the  relic  and 
prepare  for  confession.  Percival's  hour  was  come. 
Captain  Brazenhead  was  murdering  his  uncle,  and 
he  was  about  to  murder  his  own  happiness.  What  a 
position  for  a  boy  in  love! 

But  it  seems  that  not  he  alone  had  a  weighty  con- 
science to  discharge.    Consider  these  facts  in  order. 

I.  The  Prioress  of  Ambresbury  confessed  that 
Captain  Brazenhead  loved  her  after  the  precepts  of 
Plato  and  the  Venerable  Bede;also  that  she  loved 
Piers  Thrustwood  more  as  a  son  than  the  nephew  he 
was  plainly  desirous  of  becoming. 

II.  Master  Smith's  wife  confessed  that  she  had 
spied  upon  her  husband  on  many  late  occasions,  but 
especially  on  the  previous  night.  She  said  that 
Piers  Thrustwood  was,  in  reality,  one  Jenny  Perce- 
forest,  who  had  run  away  with  Captain  Brazenhead 
and  been  deserted  by  him ;  and  believed  that  her  hus- 
band was  intending  to  renew  an  old  acquaintance  with 
the  young  woman.  She  owned  that  she  was  not  to  be 
trusted  if  he  did.  As  she  spoke  mostly  in  sobs  and 
the  Norwegian  language,  Dan  Costard  was  occasion- 
ally at  a  loss. 

III.  Mawdleyn  Touchett  confessed  that  she  loved 
Piers  Thrustwood,  who  was  not  what  he  seemed. 

IV.  Sister  Petronilla  confessed  that  Captain  Bra- 
zenhead had  made  her  a  letter-bearer  to  Mawdleyn 
Touchett.  She  did  not  know  what  the  letter  con- 
tained except  by  hearsay.    She  had  taken  back  an 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  255 

answer.  When  the  Prioress  told  her  to  apply  cold 
meat  to  Piers  Thrustwood's  eye,  she  gave  over  her 
office  to  Mawdleyn  Touchett.  She  did  not  know 
what  Mawdleyn  Touchett  applied,  except  that  it  was 
not  cold  meat. 

V.  Percival  Perceforest  admitted  that  this  was  his 
name,  that  he  was  and  had  been  in  love  with  Mawd- 
leyn Touchett  both  before  and  after  his  beating; 
that  he  was  a  deceiver  of  the  Prioress,  no  nephew  of 
Captain  Brazenhead,  but  nephew  (on  the  other  hand) 
of  my  Lord  Say 

"What!"  cried  Dan  Costard,  stopping  him  at  this 
point,  "you  are  not  Piers  Thrustwood?" 

"No,  father,"  says  Percival. 

"Then,"  says  the  priest,  "the  Prioress  does  not 
love  you  as  a  son,  rather  than  the  nephew  you  are 
plainly  desirous  of  becoming." 

"Alack,  but  I  do  desire  it,"  Percival  owned. 

"Never  mind  that  now,"  replied  Dan  Costard; 
"one  thing  at  a  time.  The  Lady  Prioress  loves  Piers 
Thrustwood  as  a  son;  but  if  there  is  no  such  person 
she  can  have  no  such  love.  Her  absolution,  there- 
fore, is  easy." 

"Then  she  loves  not  me,  father,"  said  Percival 
sorrowfully,  "for  I  have  just  told  you  that  I  am  not 
Piers  Thrustwood  at  all." 

"But  what  do  you  say  about  Master  Smith's  wife," 
the  priest  continued,  "and  her  ugly  tale  about  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead?" 

Percival  felt  this  to  be  a  comparatively  easy  matter. 
"I  say,  my  reverend,  that  my  name  is  Perceforest, 


256  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

and  own  that  I  have  a  sister  Jenny,  but  I  deny  that 
I  am  she." 

"You  are  sure?"  asked  Dan  Costard.  "Very 
well,  then.  Smith's  wife  can  be  shriven.  Now  there 
is  Mistress  Mawdleyn,  loving  Piers  Thrust  wood,  who 
is  not  what  he  seems.    What  have  you  to  say?"  . 

"Oh,  sir,  oh,  sir,"  Percival  urged,  with  pleading 
looks,  "Mawdleyn  loves  me,  and  I  love  Mawdleyn. 
And  for  that  reason  I  was  beaten  by  Sir  Simon,  and 
came  creeping  back;  and  for  that  reason  I  told  fibs, 
and  for  that  reason  I  confess  them.  Further  I  say, 
that  if  I  cannot  have  her,  I  must  die." 

"Well,"  says  Dan  Costard,  hand  on  chin,  "and 
why  not?  It  will  make  everything  simple,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"But  if  I  die,  I  cannot  have  Mawdleyn,  good 
father." 

"Tush!"  cried  Father  Costard,  "we  are  beating 
the  air.     Get  your  Lord  Say  to  plead  your  cause." 

"Alas,  dear  father,  I  fear  the  worst  for  him,"  says 
Percival  mournfully. 

"Then  you  can  plead  your  own  cause,  my  boy," 
replied  the  priest  briskly;  "for  then  you  will  be  his 
lordship.  But  I  must  insist  upon  your  making  a  clean 
breast  of  it  to  my  lady;  this  you  shall  promise  me 
before  I  shrive  you." 

"Sir,"  said  Percival,  "it  is  in  the  making.  I  do 
but  wait  to  ask  Master  Corhet,  the  Scrivener,  to  in- 
scribe it  fair  upon  a  sheepskin." 

"Very  good,"  said  Dan  Costard,  and  shrived  him. 
Percival  spent  the  rest  of  his  time  dictating  his  lowly 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  257 

confession  to  the  Scrivener,  but  what  with  the  inter- 
ruption of  his  own  remorseful  tears  and  the  emenda- 
tions of  that  worthy  man  he  had  got  no  farther  than 
the  words,  "The  humble  cry  of  the  heart  of  P — ," 
when  the  summons  to  the  road  came  from  the  un- 
conscious intended  recipient.  Percival  was  called  to 
do  his  squire's  duty,  and  worse,  he  was  bid  to  tell  a 
tale.  This  he  did,  as  all  the  world  may  know  if  it 
care,  with  direct  application  to  his  case,  showing  how 
misadventure  may  be  piled  on  misadventure,  and 
misconception  on  misconception,  in  aJBfairs  of  the 
heart,  until  (as  in  his  tale)  a  young  man  named 
Galeotto  may  wed  a  young  man  named  Eugenio, 
and  Camilla  (a  young  woman),  a  young  woman, 
Estella,  all  for  the  sake  of  love.  It  is  not  by  any 
means  certain  that  this  entirely  met  his  own  position, 
as  he  no  doubt  intended  that  it  should;  what  is  be- 
yond controversy  is  that  it  did  point  out  the  danger- 
ous state  of  his  relations  with  the  Shipman,  and  very 
much  affected  the  Shipman's  true  wife. 

So  much  was  this  the  case  that  when  the  tale  was 
ended,  which  was  after  supper  in  the  parlour  of  the 
Prior  of  Christ-church,  Mistress  Gundrith  had  a  fit 
of  coughing  and  weeping  intermixed,  and  retired,  as 
she  said,  to  bed.  But  it  is  now  known  that  she  did 
not  go  thither.  The  intentions  also  of  Percival 
were  widely  different  from  his  performances.  His 
resolution  had  been  to  charm  the  Prioress  first  by 
his  romancing  and  to  melt  her  afterward  by  his  tears. 
He  charmed  her,  it  is  true,  but  his  tears  fell  on  stony 
ground.    For 'they  fell  upon  the  bosom  of  Master 


258  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

Richard  Smith,  who,  having  thrown  a  handkerchief 
over  his  head,  had  picked  him  up  in  the  quadrangle 
(where  the  lad  had  gone  to  compose  his  mind),  pelted 
with  him  in  the  dark  down  Mercery  Lane,  and  now 
held  him  in  the  cellar  of  the  little  beerhouse,  comfort- 
ing him  with  flagons  and  protesting  against  all  his 
rage  that  they  should  be  married  in  the  morn  and  sail 
with  the  first  tide.  It  was  then,  and  not  till  then, 
that  Percival  found  out  what  he  owed  to  the  great 
Captain  Brazenhead.    For  he — ^but  I  anticipate. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  there  came  a  flying 
messenger  into  Canterbury  bearing  letters  for  the 
Prioress  of  Ambresbury's  grace.  These  were  from 
her  brother  Sir  Simon  Touchett  and  thus  conceived: 

Loving  Sister: — ^After  my  hearty  commendations, 
these  let  you  wite  that  you  must  by  all  means  da 
honour  to  one  Master  Perceforest  who  I  believe  is 
with  you.  At  the  least  I  traced  him  as  far  as  Winton, 
which  I  know  he  left  in  your  company.  Fail  me  not 
herein  as  you  tender  my  welfare.  And  the  Blessed 
Trinity  preserve  you  in  His  keeping,  and  give  you 
all  your  desires.  From  your  brother.  Si.  Touchett, 
Kt. — Postcriptum.  I  pray  you.  Sister,  be  temperate 
with  my  daughter  Mawdleyn.  And  if  the  said  Mr. 
Perceforest  will  take  her  with  a  fair  manor  of  forty 
pound  for  dowry,  let  it  be  so  o'  God's  name.  I  fear 
I  have  no  more  to  bestow,  for  times  are  hard,  and  the 
crops  very  light  this  year,  owing  to  the  dry  weather. 
I  pray  God  amend  it.  If  the  said  Mr.  Perceforest 
shows  signs  of  grudge  against  me  for  misadventure — 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  259 

and  for  what  I  must  call  shameful  mishandling — in 
the  past,  tell  him,  I  pray  you,  that  I  will  meet  him 
hereafter  on  my  old  knees.  Item,  I  will  give  two 
manors  of  eighty  pound  clear  with  my  daughter 
Mawdlejni.  I  beseech  God  to  grant  you  a  fair  re- 
ward for  your  pilgrimage.  Your  man  Costard  will 
marry  my  daughter  to  the  said  Mr.  Perceforest. 
Item,  Item,  I  will  give  a  fair  thirty-pound  land  with 
the  said  two  manors. 

S.  T.,  Kt. 

A  letter  for  the  "right  worshipful  and  his  loving 
friend  Mr.  Percival  Perceforest"  was  enclosed;  and 
the  Prioress,  after  reading  this  also,  sent  for  Piers 
Thrustwood.  At  this  moment  Mawdleyn's  soft 
cheek  was  against  her  own,  and  Mawdleyn's  soft 
heart  discerned  to  be  beating  in  fine  disorder. 
**Dear  madam,  dear  aunt,"  said  this  melting  beauty. 
"I  beseech  you  to  be  a  good  aunt  to  poor  Mawdleyn. 
All  he  did  was  for  love." 

"I  think  so  indeed,  child,"  said  the  Prioress;  "and 
no  offence  either,  it  seems.  But  I  ask  in  vain,  why 
was  the  poor  young  man  whipped  for  what  he  is  now 
to  be  coaxed  back  to  with  forty-pound  lands?" 

"He  will  need  no  coaxing,  dear  madam,"  Mawd- 
lejoi  assured  her.  But  it  appeared  that  he  would  need 
much  coaxing.  He  could  not  be  found.  He  was 
not  in  his  bed,  he  had  not  been  in  bed,  had  not  been 
seen  since  bed-time.  Neither  had  the  Shipman's 
wife  been  to  bed.  "Is  it  possible,"  thought  the 
Prioress,  "is  it  humanly  possible  that  my  brother 


26o  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

knows  more  than  I  do  ?    Is  it  humanly  possible  that 
Piers,  or  Percival,  is  running  after  Smith's  wife?" 

Far  from  that,  Smith's  wife  was  at  this  moment 
running  after  Percival.  Percival  Perceforest  in  his 
shirt,  breeches,  and  one  of  his  stockings  was  flying 
for  his  life  through  the  streets  of  Canterbury.  Close 
at  his  heels  came  Smith's  wife,  behind  her  a  delighted 
pack  of  citizens,  crying,  ''Hold  thief,  hold!  Take 
the  rogue  alive!  Rope,  rope,  rope!"  and  other  like 
words.  How  long  the  chase  had  held,  I  say  not ;  I 
know  that  it  could  have  held  little  longer.  Percival's 
breath  was  gone,  his  eyes  were  dim,  his  feet  cut,  his 
shirt  and  breeches  barely  acquainted.  Bricks,  mud, 
sticks,  stones  whizzed  by  his  ears.  "Peg  him  down! 
Peg  him  down!"  were  ominous  sounds  of  prepara- 
tion. Percival  set  his  back  against  a  wall  and  pre- 
pared to  die  hard.  On  came  the  mob;  another 
minute  had  been  his  last.  As  if  rushing  upon  what 
he  could  not  avoid,  Percival  gave  a  sudden  glad  cry 
and  sprang  out  toward  his  enemies.  But  as  he  did 
so,  these  parted  from  behind — whether  by  express 
command  or  intuitive  sense,  can  never  truly  be 
known.  Percival  ran  through  his  late  pursuers  and 
fell  panting  into  the  arms  of  a  Cardinal  who,  properly 
attended  by  his  foot-page,  was  advancing  down  the 
street.  The  amazed  inhabitants  saw  this  Prince  of 
the  Church  enfold  and  kiss  a  young  man  who  was 
believed  to  have  murdered  a  sailor  in  Mercery  Lane. 
It  need  not  be  said  that  His  Eminence,  who  was 
inordinately  hairy,  and  fierce  in  the  eye,  was  Captain 
Brazenhead  in  disguise. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  261 

His  first  care  was  to  get  rid  of  the  ragtails  who 
threatened  the  peace.  "Avoid,  good  people,"  was 
his  subhme  assurance ; "  he  whom  you  seek  is  not  here. 
He  is  elsewhere."  His  air,  his  hair,  his  hat,  his  cas- 
sock and  tippet  of  flame-red,  did  their  work.  The 
men  of  Canterbury  doffed  their  bonnets  to  His 
Eminence  and  suffered  him  to  lead  away  their  mur- 
derer whither  he  would.  Mistress  Smith  raised 
shrill  cries,  but  to  no  purpose.  When  she  denounced 
Percival,  they  referred  her  to  the  Cardinal.  When 
she  scoffed  at  His  Eminence,  they  referred  her  to  the 
devil,  and  so  left  her.  His  Eminence  led  his  young 
friend  into  the  great  church,  and  producing  a  bundle 
from  under  his  arm,  said  with  great  apparatus  of 
whispering  and  tapping  of  the  nose,  "Take  this 
token,  Percival,  of  my  travail  for  you."  Percival 
unfolded  the  head  of  my  Lord  Say:  deeply  shocked, 
he  gazed  at  it. 

"Let  me  not  raise  false  hopes  in  you,  dear  Per- 
cival," said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "Your  late  au- 
gust kinsman  was  not  beheaded,  as  this  gift  would 
seeni  to  imply,  and  as  his  rank  surely  warranted. 
In  fact,  the  ground  of  my  quarrel  with  Captain  Cade 
(Mortimer  as  he  foolishly  calls  himself)  was  this, 
should  my  Lord  Say  be  hanged  or  sworded?  I 
named  the  sword,  but  Jack  would  have  the  rope.  I 
exposed  the  infamy  of  this:  Jack  strung  him  up.  We 
quarrelled  irrevocably.  Jack  led  his  men  towards 
London  and  certain  ruin.  May  Jack  go  in  peace! 
I  believe  he  is  a  fool,  and  know  him  to  be  without  the 
feelings  of  a  gentleman.    A  ridiculous,  yet  fortunate* 


262  THE   CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

adventure  brings  me  to  your  rescue.  You  remember 
the  Prioress's  knave  whom  I  laid  in  a  drain  on  your 
account  ?  This  boy  (and  I  speak  to  his  credit) ,  filled 
with  revengeful  feelings,  followed  me  all  the  way,  and 
at  Kemsing  denounced  me  to  a  justice  as  his  ravish- 
er  and  the  thief  of  his  clothes.  Unworthy,  you  say  ? 
Far  from  that,  it  is  for  that  reason  I  have  advanced 
him.  I  was  forced  to  disguise  myself  as  you  see. 
But  what  a  plight  I  find  you  in!  Where  is  your 
jacket?  Where  are  your  shoes?  Where  are  your 
points  ?  What  have  you  been  about  ?  No  scandal, 
I  hope?" 

"Scandal!"  cried  Percival,  growing  very  red,  "I 
say  it  was  scandalous;  but  I  served  him  well  for  it." 

"Meaning  whom?"  asked  the  Captain;  and  Per- 
cival told  him:  "The  Shipman  Smith,  who  would 
have  it  that  I  was  my  sister  Jane,  and  carried  me  ofif 
with  a  towel  over  my  head." 

"The  man  is  a  silly  fool,  as  I  always  knew,"  said 
Captain  Brazenhead;  "but  it  must  have  been  simple 
to  satisfy  him." 

"Simple  or  not,"  says  Percival,  "I  did  it.  For  I 
cut  his  face  open  with  a  grindstone." 

"You  did  very  well,  bawcock,  failing  a  foot  and  a 
half  of  Toledo,"  cried  the  Captain.  "By  my  faith, 
I  know  not  how  a  gentleman  of  your  parts  could 
have  done  better.  But  we  have  more  solemn  busi- 
ness on  hand.  You  and  I  will  go  and  declare  our- 
selves to  the  Lady  Prioress.  I  fancy  your  affair — 
if  you  are  still  in  mind  for  it — ^will  go  better  hence- 
forward." 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  263 

Percival  grew  suddenly  grave.  "Alas,  dear  sir," 
he  said,  "but  I  was  carried  off  from  my  mistress  be- 
fore I  could  confess  to  her  the  wicked  truth." 

"You  will  find  the  truth  not  half  so  wicked  as  you 
suppose,  my  lord,"  said  the  Captain.  "Come,  I 
will  conduct  your  lordship." 

"But,  sir,  consider  the  danger  to  yourself,"  Per- 
cival faltered — but,  even  so,  sensibly  changing  aspect 
as  the  new  address  warmed  him. 

"Myself,  ha?"  the  Captain  snorted.  "I  am  suf- 
ficiently protected  by  my  disguise,  I  hope.  I  warrant 
you  there  will  be  no  trouble  on  that  score.  More- 
over, that  boy  who  denounced  me  so  took  my  fancy 
for  the  fact  that  I  have  engaged  him  as  my  foot-page. 
Have  no  fear  for  me,  but  come,  my  dear  lord,  come." 

The  magnificent  Cardinal  Brazenhead,  every  inch 
a  prelate  and  a  prince,  took  the  arm  of  Percival,  who 
was  far  from  looking  what  he  actually  was;  and 
caused  the  hall  porter  of  the  Priory  to  announce  the 
Lord  Cardinal  of  Magnopolis  and  my  Lord  Say, 
to  wait  upon  the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury.  I  should 
fail  to  find  words  proper  to  express  the  surprise  of  the 
venerable  lady.  But  Captain  Brazenhead  by  no 
means  failed.  He  was  at  once  the  courtier,  the 
Churchman,  and  the  deferential  lover  (in  Plato's 
vein).  The  moment  he  was  face  to  face  with  the 
lady,  he  advanced  toward  her,  took  and  kissed  her 
hand.  His  page  in  attendance  held  his  tasselled  hat 
— crimson  on  a  black  silk  cushion. 

"At  last,  dear  lady,"  he  said  with  a  happy  sigh, 
"at  last  my  tiresome  disguises  are  over!    lean  greet 


264  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT 

your  ladyship  without  fatigue  and  without  embarrasS' 
ment." 

"Oh,  my  lord!    Oh,  sir — !"  the  Prioress  began — 
but  he  put  up  a  deprecating  hand. 

"Titles  of  ceremony  between  us!"  he  said  with 
gentle  amazement.  "Lady,  you  and  I  know  too 
much  evil  of  the  world  to  affect  the  world's  cozening 
caresses.  We,  if  you  take  my  meaning,  have  suf- 
fered, and  laboured,  ah,  and  loved,  too  long  on  earth 
to  feel  any  solace  out  of  things  like  these.  But" — 
he  went  on,  waving  the  shamefaced  Percival  into  the 
discussion — "but  with  the  young  it  is  otherwise.  An 
eyass  falcon,  dear  madam,  may  take  pride  in  her 
opening  plumage,  I  suppose.  Here,  madam,  is  this 
noble  youth,  whom  you  knew  as  Piers  Thrustwood, 
and  I  as  my  dearest  nephew,  Mr.  Percival  Perce- 
forest,  now  (by  the  unhappy  death  of  his  kinsman) 
my  Lord  Baron  of  Say:  here,  madam,  is  he  for  whose 
advantage  I  adventured  as  a  captain  of  men's  bodies, 
where  men's  souls,  perchance,  are  more  under  my 
care.  His  dear  kinsman  is  unhappily  slain  by  rebels; 
and  he  (barely  escaping  with  his  own  young  golden 
life)  stands  before  you — ashamed  of  the  deceit 
forced  upon  him,  glorying  in  the  stripes  wherewith 
your  brother  anointed  his  princely  back,  and  burning 
(if  I  may  speak  of  such  matters)  for  the  tardy  bliss  he 
has  dared  such  hardships  to  win.  My  dear  lord  and 
nephew" — he  turned  to  Percival — "salute  my  friend 
the  Prioress  of  Ambresbury."  The  young  Lord  Say 
knelt  down  before  her. 

"Oh,  madam,  believe  me — "  he  began  to  stam- 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  KENT  265 

mer;  but  the  Prioress  raised  him  and  gave  him  a  kiss. 

"My  sweet  lord,  my  dear  Percival,"  she  said,  "you 
shall  believe  that  we  love  you  very  much.  Come. 
My  charge  awaits  you." 

She  shook  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  into  her 
chamber,  where  Mawdleyn  Touchett  was  picking 
her  hem  to  pieces. 

"Master,"  said  the  Cardinal's  new  page,  "if  my 
mistress  casts  an  eye  on  me  she'll  have  me  horsed  for 
bathing  at  Winton." 

The  Cardinal  looked  him  over.  "My  lad,"  said 
he,  "  the  Prioress  is  my  very  good  friend.  Moreover, 
you  must  have  a  rind  like  a  porpoise  to  stand  the  May 
frosts  on  your  naked  skin.  I  shall  make  something 
of  you  yet.  Go,  boy,  purvey  me  beer  from  the  Rain- 
bow.   I  do  furiously  thirst." 

It  is  proper  to  add  that  the  Prioress,  Dan  Costard, 
Percival  Lord  Say,  and  Mistress  Mawdleyn  Touchett 
paid  their  homage  at  the  Shrine  of  St.  Thomas;  and 
that  Captain  Brazenhead  was  appointed  Steward  of 
the  Manors  of  Westerham,  Ejiockholt,  and  Froghole, 
with  a  reversion  of  the  Office  of  High  Bailiff  of  the 
Lordship  of  Sevenoaks. 

History  knows  no  more  of  Master  Richard  Smith, 
Mariner  of  Kingston-upon-HuU,  nor  of  Gundrith  his 
wife,  native  of  Norway. 


BOOK  IV 
THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 


BOOK   IV 
THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 


In  his  later  years,  having  become  a  thought  pursy 
in  habit,  having  allowed  himself  a  full  beard  and 
ceased  to  occupy  his  leisure  in  extracting  the  white 
hairs  from  it,  Captain  Brazenhead  was  also  grown 
sententious.  He  was  fond  of  dwelling  not  only  upon 
the  comfort  which  he  now  enjoyed,  but  also  upon  the 
services  by  which  he  had  so  well  earned  it.  To  en- 
sure his  own  self-respect,  I  think,  the  more  he  was 
aware  of  the  one  the  more  did  he  exalt  the  other. 
And  it  may  well  be  that  he  overshot  his  mark.  To 
hear  him,  as  four  nights  a  week  he  was  heard  by  a 
cowed  company  at  The  Man  of  Renown  in  Seven- 
oaks,  you  would  have  thought  him  sheriff  of  a  county 
at  the  least,  but  the  deeds  whereby  he  became  what 
he  was  become  could  hardly,  upon  his  showing,  have 
earned  him  less  than  the  seigniory  of  Almain.  He 
might — he  ought  to — ^have  been  a  Prince  Palatine, 
a  Margrave,  or  a  Cardinal- Archbishop;  instead  of 
which  he  was  steward,  we  know  as  a  fact,  of  the 
Manor  of  Knockholt — a  respectable  post,  but  really 
no  more  than  that.     "The  dignity  of  my  high  office, 

269 


270  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

the  fealty  I  bear  to  our  Lord  the  King,  my  headship 
over  men,  my  discretion  over  women  (pretty  fools!) " 
— these  resounding  exordiums  related  indeed  to  no 
greater  office.  A  man  of  generous  conceit!  So  it 
was,  in  truth,  with  his  gear  as  it  was  with  his  rank. 
"These  ancient  halls,  this  venerable  cradle  of  my 
race"  exorbitantly  described  his  decent  lodging  with 
the  widow  Fych  at  Goose  Green;  "my  broad  acres, 
that  goodly  demesne  won  by  this  arm  in  bloody 
field"  told  you  of  his  garden  of  shalotts,  two  perches 
of  land  held  by  the  widow  as  her  dower,  in  the  which 
Captain  Brazenhead  in  shirt  and  breeches  might  be 
seen  of  fine  mornings  sweating  like  a  porous  pitcher. 
But  so  it  was  with  this  great  man  that,  if  telling  could 
make  a  thing  great,  it  became  as  great  as  he. 

It  is  a  fact  that  he  was  in  easy  circumstances  and 
had  been  so  ever  since,  as  the  reader  will  remember, 
the  young  Lord  Say,  in  the  first  flush  of  his  gratitude 
to  the  most  extraordinary  man  alive  in  England,  had 
bestowed  upon  him  the  stewardship  aforesaid.  This 
office,  one  year  with  another,  brought  the  Captain  in 
some  fifty  marks  a  year  and  a  green  goose  at  Michael- 
mas. Then  there  were  the  pickings:  at  Christmas  a 
capon,  common  of  pasture  for  his  horse,  estovers, 
driftwood,  drink  at  the  Court  Leet,  drink  at  the 
Court  Baron,  a  mark  here  for  a  wedding,  half  a  mark 
there  for  the  return  of  an  heir.  All  hands  agreed  that 
the  Captain  made  himself  snug,  and  would  die  rich, 
if  he  did  not  go  too  far.  That  he  did  not  so  go  was 
not  his  fault;  he  went  as  far  as  he  could,  but  not  near 
so  far  as  he  would.    "God  ha'  mercy  upon  these 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  271 

Kentish  men,"  he  used  to  say,  "for  I,  his  gerent,  will 
have  none."  That  was  after  a  bold  attempt  of  his 
to  revive  some  of  the  more  ancient  droits  de  seigneur 
under  the  pretence  of  a  charter  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor. The  attempt  had  failed,  partly  because  the 
Captain  had  been  too  precipitate,  partly  because  the 
proposed  subject,  one  Agnes  Fillhungre,  had  smacked 
his  face.  He  had  appealed  urhi  et  orhi,  but  in  vain. 
Was  not  Mercheta  mulierum  granted?  Was  it  not 
concordant  with  the  laws  of  the  realm,  and  the  laws 
of  nature  which  say.  Take  what  thou  canst  get? 
Lord  of  light,  was  it  not?  "If,  by  Cock,"  he  had 
cried,  "a  lord  of -the  land  hath  not  the  parts  and  pas- 
sions proper  to  his  grace,  and  if  I,  his  familiar,  his 
counterpart,  the  twin-pea  of  him,  the  shadow  of  his 
splendour  in 'this  lordship  of  Knockholt,  have  them 
not,  then  am  I  of  all  men  miserable,  and  no  man  at 
all,  but  a  Grand  Turk's  singing-boy — and  so  shall 
ye  be,  dogs  and  dogs'  daughters!" 

Thus  he  had  cried  to  the  matrons  of  Knockholt 
on  a  hiring  day,  holding  Agnes  Fillhungre  firmly  by 
the  ear — but  his  indignation  was  in  vain;  for  not  hav- 
ing the  fear  of  God,  they  set  upon  him  with  besoms, 
and  Agnes  squealed  like  a  young  porker  at  ringing- 
time.  There  had  nearly  been  a  riot  among  the 
women,  and  the  case  was  so  that  the  champion  of 
ancient  institutions  was  advised  to  retire.  He  had 
consolations — ^we  know  that  it  was  so — :  there  was 
Kate  Comfre,  she  was  one;  there  was  MairBythe- 
hedge  (that  wheedler);  there  was  Joan  the  Reiver. 
And  there  were  others — there  were  others.    But  as 


272  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

time  wore  on,  and  his  life  wore  with  it  a  deeper  rut 
in  this  most  arable  world,  his  actions  became  more 
orderly,  and  (by  consequence)  his  recollections  the 
more  inordinate. 

As  for  them,  I  have  before  now  provided  you  with 
some  of  them,  in  a  chastened  form,  as  becomes  an 
historian  who  values  the  truth  above  all  things  in  this 
world,  including  his  own  talents  and  the  prowess  of 
his  hero.  Captain  Brazenhead's  own  views  of  truth 
are  well  known;  he  held  it  in  veneration.  It  had 
always  been  so  in  his  stormy  youth,  it  was  so  now 
when  he  sat  in  the  ingle  of  the  Man  of  Renown,  toss- 
ing one  foot  in  the  air,  stroking  his  portly  beard  or 
sharpening  his  teeth  with  a  file — a  favourite  trick  of 
his.  "By  this  sword,"  he  would  cry  to  the  auditors, 
*'by  this  sword  wherewith  I  slew  the  Sophy  of  Persia, 
I  would  let  that  man  go  free,  cringed  he  here  now, 
spilt  he  here  his  triple  crown  and  rope  of  balass  rubies 
at  my  foot,  ah,  but  I  would  so,  could  I  charge  myself 
before  this  company  with  paltering  with  the  truth. 
For  mark  you  well  what  once  I  told  the  Holy  Father 
as  he  and  I  hobnobbed  over  our  toasted  cheese 
and  pippins  in  ale — in  the  city  of  Antioch  and  year 
of  Christ's  mercy  fourteen  hundred  and  fourteen. 
*  Gossip,*  said  I  to  that  man,  and  drove  a  chapped 
finger  into  his  left  pap,  Hell  me  the  truth,'  said  I, 
*and  then  but  not  otherwise  we  gamesters  may  cheat 
the  rope.'  And  he  owned  that  I  was  in  the  right 
and  with  contrition  promised  amendment  of  life, 
properer  conversation,  and  curtailment  of  strong 
drink.    And  then  he  asked  me  his  benefit  of  clergy, 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  273 

which,  seeing  that  he  was  old  in  years  and  grave-ripe 
this  dozen  of  them,  I  gave  him,  being  then  Castellan 
of  that  coast,  and  Warden  of  the  Marches  over 
against  Samaria.  So  now,  then,  you  see  what  man- 
ner of  man  it  is  that  invites  your  ear."    They  did. 

But  in  accidentals,  in  such  excursions  as  he  was 
pleased  to  make  from  the  main  thread  of  his  narra- 
tive, in  what  you  may  call  the  "Notes  and  Illustra- 
tions" of  his  theme,  I  do  think  that  he  sometimes 
strayed.  I  cannot  identify  seven  ladies,  each  of 
whom  he  may  have  called  wife,  still  less  seventeen. 
Of  his  tall  sons,  whether  they  numbered  seven,  seven- 
teen, seventy-seven,  or  none  (for  the  accounts  of 
them  vary),  I  have  found  no  trace  at  all.  I  cannot 
believe  that  all  his  daughters  (if  any)  married  sover- 
eign princes;  for  though  I  have  not  searched  the 
parish  registers  of  Europe,  Asia  Minor,  the  Duchy 
of  Muscovy,  and  the  Barbary  States,  I  go  by  prob- 
abilities. I  say  bluntly,  from  what  I  know  of  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead,  that  he  was  no  Lear  to  let  his  ailing 
reason  fritter  out  his  spleen.  I  ask  the  candid  stu- 
dent, would  so  potent  a  begetter  have  remained 
steward  of  the  Manor  of  Knockholt,  had  there  been 
but  one  Cordelia  among  those  princesses  who  called 
him  sire?  I  cannot  suppose  it.  And  in  any  event 
the  point  is  immaterial,  since  his  daughters  (if  any) 
do  not  come  into  this  narrative,  though  his  wives 
(fatal  plural!),  or  some  of  them,  most  fatally  do. 

Exaggeration  is  natural  to  the  teller  of  oft-told 
tales.  The  number  of  his  exploits  increased  with 
his   years.     "Ten   times   left   for   dead;   trampled 


274  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

twelve  times  out  by  the  rearguard  of  the  host  I  had 
led  to  victory  ...  in  prisons  frequent,  in  deaths  not 
divisible  ..."  Thus  his  mortifications  grew,  as 
the  careful  reader  will  remark,  by  some  twice  them- 
selves every  few  years;  and  thus,  I  cannot  but  think, 
swelled  the  number  of  his  triumphant  trophies  of 
chivalry.  I  give  below  a  remarkable  list,  which 
speaks  for  itself  better  than  any  brave  words  of  mine 
could  do.  And  so  it  shall,  when  I  havfe  prepared  the 
student  for  a  curious  obliquity  in  it  whereby  the  com- 
piler was  accustomed  to  add  to  the  sum  of  heroic 
deeds  which  he  had  performed,  the  number  of  the 
extremely  unheroic  which  he  had  refrained  from 
performing — ^as  if  omission  to  achieve  scandalous 
feats  were  in  itself  a  feat.  Perhaps  he  is  right;  but 
the  list  of  his  conquests,  expressed  in  sotUs^  shall  now 
be  given: 

"With  this  sword  and  quivering  arm  have  I — 
Of  men-at-arms,  slain  incontinent  and  with  shock, 

Sped  2,000  souls. 
Of  armies  put  to  flight,  by  craft,  strategy,  or  frontal 

attack, Shamed  15,000  souls. 

Of  chief  cities,  starved,  carried,  ruined,  havocked, 
and  put  to  the  sword. 

Slain  at  the  least  360,000  souls. 

Of  Heathens,  Anabaptists,   Incendiaries,  Atheists, 

Jews,  Rebels,  Sheep-stealers,  and  Hedgerow  men, 

Cut  in  strips  321  souls. 

Of  inspired  Maidens  confronted  in  the  light  of  day 

and  put  to  rebuke  ....    Discomfited  i  soul. 


THE  LAST  ADVENTUP.E  275 

Of  Popes  of  Christendom  taught  the  rudiments  of 

their  affair At  the  least,  2  souls. 

Of  Convents  of  religious  unsacked  through  the  fear 
of  God  and  arrival  of  the  posse  .  Excused  10  souls. 
Of  Malefactors  left  alive, 

If  they  have  souls,  then  5  souls. 
Of  Sepulchres  rescued  from  the  Infidel, 

Say,  I  Sepulchre. 

We  reach,  the  reader  sees,  the  astonishing  total, 
in  men  and  sepulchres  alone,  and  not  counting  walls, 
towers,  horses,  ships,  barbicans,  cathedrals,  bed- 
chambers, and  the  like,  of  three  hundred  thirty-seven 
thousand  three  hundred  and  thirty-nine  souls  and 
one  sepulchre.  These  figures  speak  for  themselves; 
and  will  be  all  the  preface  I  require  for  the  great, 
unheard-of,  and  not  to  be  paralleled  occurrences 
which  I  have  now  to  relate.  They  are  all  the  pref- 
ace, I  say,  but  they  are  an  indispensable  preface, 
the  minimum  of  preface  with  which  I  can  accomplish 
my  serious  task. 


n 

With  his  patron  and  patroness,  my  Lord  and  Lady 
Say,  in  their  great  castle  of  Knole,  the  relations  of 
Captain  Brazenhead  (through  whom,  he  would  oft- 
time  say  "they  were  what  they  were")  were  not  what 
they  had  been  in  earlier  days.  It  is  not  unnatural: 
youth  is  prone  to  oblivion.  My  Lord  Say,  when  he 
stood  as  Percival  Perceforest,  a  slim  youth  somewhat 
quick  to  tears,  had  almost  been  in  the  patronage  of 
Captain  Brazenhead.  Finding  him  abandoned  to 
his  grief  in  the  nave  of  Winchester  Minster,  the  great 
soldier  had  idly  picked  him  up  for  his  occasion  and 
idly  served  him, when  he  had  first  served  himself.  Per- 
cival, now  Lord  Say,  forgot  all  that :  Captain  Brazen- 
head, steward  of  one  of  his  manors,  did  not.  So 
with  her  ladyship.  Of  her,  then  Mistress  Mawdleyn 
Touchett,  he  had  been  wont  to  speak  as  a  "morsel", 
or  a  "toothsome  piece" ;  he  had  muttered,  eyeing  her, 
"curds  and  cream";  he  had  called  her  a  cuddhng 
girl.  Boy  and  girl  as  he  had  seen  them,  he  had 
brought  them  together  with  a  shrug,  and  left  them 
together  with  a  chuckle.  True,  he  had  taken  his 
dues,  his  wages  if  you  will:  but  look  at  it!  "To  the 
Barony  of  Say  conferred  upon  one  P.  Perceforest,  a 
weeper.  .  .  .  Per  contra — Stewardship  of  the  Manor 

276 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  277 

of  Knockholt."  It  looks  ridiculous,  so  put.  And 
again:  "To  P.  Perceforest,  a  slip  of  melancholy, 
brought  into  the  arms  of  her  who  ached,  and  there 
left  to  make  her  a  lady  of  the  land,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  mother  of  peers.  .  .  .  Per  contra — Stewardship 
of  the  Manor  of  Knockholt."  Fie  upon  a  penurious 
world!    Here  was  matter  for  a  grudge. 

But  the  world  moved  on  with  these  young  persons 
as  with  him,  their  stinted  benefactor,  and  if  his  exploits 
loomed  larger  to  Captain  Brazenhead  they  waned  the 
smaller  to  his  lordship.  There  had  been  a  grudge 
on  one  part,  there  was  a  coldness  on  the  other.  My 
lord  was  become  a  courtier,  my  lady  a  mother. 
My  lord  was  often  at  Windsor,  my  lady  was  not. 
My  lord  would  tap  his  chin  at  dinner,  leaning  back  in 
his  great  chair,  and  begin  his  conversation,  "As  the 
King's  Grace  said  to  me  in  the  long  gallery,  'Good 
my  lord  .  .  .  '  ",  or  "When  the  prince  and  I  were 
at  supper,  and  fair  Mistress  Jane  between  us  .  .  .  '* 
To  which  my  lady  never,  by  any  chance,  cared  to  lis- 
ten, but  thought  the  more  diligently  of  her  own  little 
affairs:  of  what  Robin  had  whispered  in  the  Arras 
Chamber,  and  still  more  of  what  he  would  whisper 
there,  of  what  took  place  when  she  and  Sir  Harry 
were  at  supper,  and,  again,  of  what  might  take  place 
when  they  would  next  be  supping.  My  lord,  in  short, 
was  too  often  at  Windsor,  and  my  lady  too  seldom ; 
by  which  it  resulted  that  Captain  Brazenhead  fre- 
quented the  Castle  and  demesne  of  Knole,  and  my 
lady  found  that  she  could  not  do  without  him.  If  a 
gentleman  cease  to  make  love  to  his  lady  some  other 


278  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

gentleman  will  almost  certainly  do  it ;  and  if  a  gentle- 
man cease  to  take  notice  of  his  benefactor,  that  bene- 
factor will  transfer  his  benefactions  to  a  more  grateful 
client.  The  occasions  of  my  Lady  Say,  therefore, 
flattered  Captain  Brazenhead's  self-esteem,  soothed 
his  pique,  and  encouraged  his  services  where  they 
were  desired.  And  he  was  of  the  greatest  possible 
service. 

It  had  been  Captain  Brazenhead,  and  no  less  a 
man,  who  had  held  the  ladder  to  her  casement  while 
Sir  John  Caunt  was  breathing  vows  against  the  glass. 
"Up  with  you.  Sir  John,  and  play  the  man,"  had  been 
his  exhortation — and  up  went  Sir  John.  It  had  been 
he  too  who,  when  that  famous  poet,  my  Lord  Clun, 
in  his  own  despair  and  her  honour,  had  cast  himself 
down  from  a  reasonably  tall  tree,  saying,  "Earth, 
receive  me!  Mawdleyn  hath  broken  my  heart,  break 
thou  in  mercy  the  casket  of  it" — it  had  been  Captain 
Brazenhead,  I  say,  who  had  procured  the  trusses 
of  hay  upon  which  he  was  to  expire,  saying,  "Down 
with  thee,  pretty  boy,  and  suppose  her  to  be  there," 
and  he  again  who  had  brought  to  my  lady,  waiting  in 
the  arbour,  the  joyful  news  of  my  lord's  fluttering 
breath,  which  would  reassure  her  that  he  still  lived. 
And  when  it  became  very  necessary  to  tell  the  too  fer- 
vid gentleman  that  he  must  hold  off  for  a  while,  and 
that  the  virtuous  wife  could  not  listen  to  what  was 
meant  for  the  hearing  of  the  tender  friend.  Captain 
Brazenhead  did  that  delicate  office  after  his  manner. 
"By  Cock  and  his  father,  my  lord,  I  would  give  her 
time.    What  said   Joggin  to  the  tinker's  drab?" 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  279 

What  or  what  not  he  said,  we  shall  never  know;  but 
my  Lord  of  Clun  removed  himself  for  two  months  of 
the  summer,  and  went  over  sea;  and  my  Lady  took 
a  retreat  with  the  Minoresses  of  Guildford,  and  all 
was  indifferent  well. 

Now  this  was  the  state  of  affairs  upon  the  fatal 
night  of  Lammas  in  the  year  1477.  Pray  be  so  good 
as  to  remark  the  date.  Seventh  child  of  a  seventh 
child,  bom  out  of  time  in  the  seventh  month,  he  was 
now  in  the  year  1477. 

He  ought  to  have  known,  belike  he  did  know  that 
Fate  could  hardly  pass  over  such  an  occasion  as  this. 
Whether  he  knew  or  not,  he  held  his  head  high  when 
he  received  from  the  lips  of  Margaret  Mallow  the 
summons  to  the  grapple.  Margaret  Mallow,  the  full- 
favoured,  the  sloe-eyed,  the  apple-cheeked,  had  come 
to  his  lodging,  and  had  up  and  spoke.  The  Captain, 
high  in  wine  and  beef,  had  saluted  her  according  to 
his  wont,  and  she  had  said,  "Fie,  Captain,  for  what 
do  you  take  me?"  His  answer  had  been — and  the 
very  stars  in  their  courses,  I  think,  had  stayed  them 
to  hear — "I  take  you,  Meg,  for  my  comfort  and 
solace.  By  this  warm  heart  that  never  yet  called 
maiden  wife,  hear  me  swear."  Rash  asseveration, 
rash  oath! 

She  heard  him  swear  in  such  fashion  that  her  heart 
beat:  and  at  that  moment  the  church  clock  struck 
seven,  and  a  very  bright  star  left  its  socket  in  the 
vault  and  flew,  burning  red,  right  across  the  zenith, 
and  disappeared  with  a  noise  like  an  iron  in  water. 
Captain  Brazenhead  started  and  looked  all  about, 


28o  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

but  did  not  take  his  arm  from  Meg  Mallow's 
middle. 

''By  Cock,  am  I  called?"  he  said;  "by  Cock,  am 
I  ?    Fling  forth,  my  fancy,  and  flout  Fate,"  said  he. 

These  are  memorable  words. 


CHAPTER  III 

Upon  this  same  fateful  night,  all  in  the  twittering 
dark,  stood  Captain  Brazenhead  in  what  he  did  not 
then  know  to  be  the  very  nick  of  Destiny.  He  had 
thought  it  to  be  the  trysting  tree,  a  holm-oak  of  un- 
known antiquity  and  high  veneration ;  really,  it  was 
much  more,  being  indeed  what,  in  a  figure,  I  have  indi- 
cated. There  stood  he  muffled  to  the  eyes  in  his  red 
cloak,  with  his  sword  acock  behind  him  as  stiff  as  a 
pointer's  tail,  in  one  hand  a  dark  lantern,  in  the  other 
his  feathered  cap — there  stood  he,  as  many  and  many 
a  time  he  had  stood  before ;  and  over  against  him,  near 
enough  to  be  provoking,  yet  far  enough  to  be  mystify- 
ing, was  the  tremulous,  hooded,  and  bescarfed  form 
of  a  lady — as  many  and  many  a  time  had  lady 
been  before.  Now  this  lady  was  not  the  Meg  Mal- 
low of  the  previous  chapter,  although  that  buxom 
and  wholesome  girl  was  within  hearing  distance,  but 
her  mistress  of  life  and  member,  my  Lady  Say,  once 
Mawdleyn  Touchett  the  plump,  the  brown-eyed — 
plumper  now  and  fuller  in  the  eye.  She  indeed  was 
upon  her  fair  knees  before  Captain  Brazenhead,  and 
if  her  eyes  were  fuller  it  was  because  they  were  full 
of  tears.  Tears  welled  freely  from  her  fine  eyes,  be- 
dabbled her  cheeks,  relaxed  the  guard  of  her  lips, 

281 


282  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

and  gave  her  heart  dangerous  eloquence.  To  hear 
her  were  to  have  an  education  in  love — but  Captain 
Brazenhead  was  an  old  prizeman  there.  Where  she 
was  humid  he  was  dry. 

"O  Salomon,  O  dearest  friend!" 

"Tut,  my  dumpling  of  pleasure,"  said  he. 

"O  Salomon,  but  I  am  frightened  for  myself." 

"The  more  pavid  you,  the  fiercer  my  smart." 

"But  he  will  beat  me,  my  friend!" 

"Ay,  as  the  cook  whips  batter — ^to  be  the  sweeter 
fare." 

She  still  implored  from  her  knees,  she  still  be- 
sought.    "Ah,  do  you  not  love  poor  Mawdleyn?" 

The  Captain's  eyes  were  wide  afield,  and  his  hand 
was  now  to  his  chin.  Before  his  heart  dangled  the 
dark  lantern,  swinging  from  his  little  finger.  "Ay, 
lady,  I  love,  I  love!"  he  muttered — but  he  said  no 
more.  The  fact  was  that  he  knew  very  well  where 
Meg  Mallow  kept  her  distance,  and  exactly  how 
much  import  this  conversation  must  have  for  her. 
She  must  know — she  did  know — that  he  was  a  lover. 
More  than  that  she  need  not  know.  His  hastily 
formed  shift  was  ingenious;  but  it  did  not  serve. 

The  lady  rose  from  her  knees,  and  drew  the  scarf 
over  her  bosom.  "You  speak  strangely.  Master 
Brazenhead,"  she  said.  "I  see  that  I  have  been  de- 
ceived in  you " 

"By  Cock,  as  how?"  he  thrust  in,  but  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  Fare  you  well.  I  shall  pray  for  you,  as  Christians 
do  pray  for  their  enemies.    Myself  and  my  sad  for- 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  283 

tunes  must  be  served  elsewhere."  And  now  she 
turned  him  her  back. 

Nothing  stirred  Captain  Brazenhead  so  sharply  as 
to  be  told  that  anybody,  anywhere,  could  serve  a 
suitor  better  than  himself.  It  stung  him  like  a  wasp. 
With  a  "ha!"  which  sounded  like  a  snort  caught  in 
the  folds  of  a  sneeze,  he  strode  forward  and  took 
her  by  the  hand.  To  her  averted  head  he  gave  the 
shock  of  battle.  "Tush,  madam,  tush!"  cried  he. 
*'By  the  Lord,  I  love  you  in  a  tantrum,  and  was 
tempted  to  be  sententious,  as  you  see.  I  spake  in 
saws,  I  was  pithy — pith  is  in  the  very  dregs  of  me. 
Be  lenitive  to  the  old  soldier,  sweet  madam,  to  the 
battle-bruised  old  Snake  of  Milan — late  tyrant  of  that 
city — who  for  your  favours  would  brave  the  death- 
rattles  and  rigours  of  a  thousand  men.  Ay!  so 
would  he,  though  Golias  stood  there,  and  Fierabras 
and  Mahompelian,  the  thrice- victorious,  with  his  leg 
of  brass.  Hear  me,  madam,  for  I  speak  advisedly. 
Greatly  as  I  have  dared,  greatlier  will  I  now.  De- 
plorably as  I  have  loved — O  eyes  of  sloe! — let  your 
rosy  heart  deplore  me  now.  I  tell  you,  madam,  in 
most  dreadful  calm,  with  this  sword  shall  kings  spill 
purple  at  your  feet — if  you  have  an  inkling  that  way ; 
but  not  unless.  If  that  will  meet  your  ladyship's 
case,  by  Cock " 

It  would  seem  that  it  did.  Mollified,  she  suffered 
him  to  lift  her  caught  hand  to  his  lips.  The  lantern 
dangled  and  flashed  as  the  white  hand  was  drawn 
to  what  Captain  Brazenhead  called  its  home.  The 
ceremony  performed — "What  seek  you  now  of  me, 


284  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

lady?"  he  asked.  "Breathe  it  low — oh,  low! — lest 
the  trees  should  hear  you  and  fall  upon  us  both  in  a 
jealous  pet.  Such  things  are  done  under  moon  and 
stars.    Dan  Ovid  says  so." 

Lady  Say  regained  her  hand  as  she  had  already 
her  composure.  "The  tree  is  well  rooted,  I  believe," 
she  said,  "and  has  taken  six  hundred  years  to  do  it 
in.  It  is  probable  that  you  will  be  spared  to  befriend 
me.  But  do  you  love  me  indeed?  For  love  will  be 
requured  of  you." 

"Love!"  cried  Captain  Brazenhead,  to  whom  the 
vow  was  as  the  trumpet  to  a  courser,  as  the  Soho!  to 
a  hawk  a-wing — and  with  a  maiden  attentive  under  a 
neighbouring  tree!  "Love,  by  Mahomed!  O  lady 
— O  lady — !"  He  drew  his  sword  and  held  it  aloft. 
The  lantern  swung  like  a  clapper  in  the  wind. 
"By  this  sword,  by  this  notch-fringed  sword,  as 
brown  with  old  blood  as  a  kettle  in  a  pond — hear 
me  swear!" 

This  was  not  to  the  lady's  purpose  by  any  means. 
"I  had  rather  not  hear  you  swear,  my  friend,"  she 
said,  "if  for  no  better  reason  than  that  the  vicinage 
must  needs  hear  you  also,  and  for  that  secrecy  is  as 
much  in  my  business  as  haste.  Let  me  not  hear  you 
say  anything,  but  rather  see  you  do  something,  and 
for  our  Lady's  sake,  hot-foot." 

"My  foot  roasts,  lady,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead. 
"To  your  matter." 

"My  matter,"  said  she,  "is  simple.  The  Lord  of 
Clun  wears  about  his  neck  my  forefinger  ring.  He 
must  wear  it  no  longer  than  this  day  fortnight,  for  in 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  285 

three  weeks  my  lord  returns  to  Knole,  and  if  he 
miss  it  from  my  finger  he  will  beat  me.  Now  you 
know  the  ring." 

Captain  Brazenhead  did  know  it.  "The  ring,  the 
ring!  Often  have  I  kissed  it,  as  God  liveth  to  give 
rings.  That  ring  was  a  plain  hoop  of  gold  wire — 
wherein  a  sard-stone  of  size — ^whereon  a  figure  of  the 
boy  Amor,  quite  naked,  entangled  by  the  wings  in  a 
net.    And  you  gave  it  to  the  songster — fie,  lady!" 

"I  gave  it  him,"  said  she,  "out  of  pity.  Upon  the 
day  when  he  cast  himself  from  this  tree  for  my  sake, 
and  was  brought  upon  a  hurdle  to  my  chamber,  upon 
that  fatal  day  did  I  give  him  the  ring." 

"  Tush,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead.  "And  now " 

"And  now,"  she  said,  speaking  vehemently  and 
with  quickened  breath,  "and  now  I  must  have  it 
again  though  you  saw  him  in  two." 

"That,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead  darkly,  "will 
be  the  easy  way.     I  shall  devise  a  better." 

"He  did  not  take  it  as  I  had  intended.  He  pre- 
sumed upon  it — he  did  not  know  an  honest  lady, 
whose  heart  might  be  touched,  whose  heart  might  be 
conscious  of  hurt  and  neglect  from  a  husband  ten- 
derly loved — but  who  could  never  have  supposed — 
no,  never " 

"A  truce  to  your  ladyship's  suppositions,"  said 
Captain  Brazenhead.  "To  the  matter.  To  the 
matter.  This  ring  he  wears  upon  his  person  ?  Good. 
But  his  person — ^where  is  that?" 

"You  will  find  it,"  she  said  confidently,  "whereso- 
ever it  be." 


286  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

"That  will  I,  though  I  cross  the  Libyan  desert 
upon  my  knees,"  he  vowed. 

"It  will  not  be  necessary,  and  the  method  will  be 
too  slow.  I  can  give  you  seven  days  to  find  Lord 
Clun,  seven  days  in  which  to  regain  my  ring,  and 
seven  for  your  return.  I  believe  that  he  is  in  Na- 
varre." 

"In  Navarre,  lady?" 

"In  Navarre.  His  sister  Ann,  you  must  know, 
married  the  Count  of  Picpus." 

Captain  Brazenhead  fell  back  as  if  he  had  been 
shot.  The  dark  lantern  clattered  against  his  heart, 
and  went  out. 

"Picpus!"  He  breathed  the  word  inward,  not 
outward,  as  is  the  usual  practice  in  European  coun- 
tries. "Picpus!  Am  I  once  more  to  be  involved 
with  a  Picpus!" 

"I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  so.  The  Count  of 
Picpus  has  a  castle  at  Gavarnis,  on  the  confines  of 
Navarre.  There,  I  believe,  you  will  find  my  Lord 
Clun.  My  counsel  to  you  is  to  have  as  little  as  may 
be  to  do  with  the  Count  of  Picpus." 

The  Captain  stared  and  muttered;  but  luckily  she 
could  not  see  him,  and  so  impugn  his  courage.  "As 
little  as  may  be  to  do  with — ay,  lady,  ay!  Little  were 
much!"  He  added  in  an  altered  tone,  "You  must 
know  that  afo  etime  there  were  many  Counts  of  Pic- 
pus." 

But  my  Lady  Say  was  tired.  "I  must  not  know 
what  I  have  no  wish  to  know,"  she  said.  "The 
point   is   immaterial.    A   score   Counts  of   Picpus 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  287 

should  be  nothing  to  my  soldier  of  fortune."  Lightly 
she  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "  Go  then,  and  at  once, 
my  soldier  of  Fortune,  and  know  that  I  requite  ser- 
vices by  kindness,  ever.  My  woman  Meg  has 
money  and  comfort  for  you.  She  should  be  near 
by." 

"  By  Cock,  and  she  is,  madam,"  said  Captain  Bra- 

zenhead. 

P  "That  is  well,"  said  the  lady  of  Knole.     "Give 

me  your  hand  to  the  privy  postern,  and  then  you 

may  return  for  your  furnitures  at  the  hands  of  Meg." 

"Trust  me,  lady,"  said  Captain  Brazenhead,  and 
handed  her  through  the  bracken. 


IV 

His  interview  with  the  sloe-eyed  maid  was  brief, 
but  is  material. 

"The  money,"  quoth  she,  "is  safe  upon  my  per- 
son— and  my  person  you  say  is  your  own.  There- 
fore it  may  remain  upon  my  person." 

"Ay,  lady,  ay,  but  look  you " 

"I  look,"  said  she,  "to  you — and  you,  I  know,  to 
me." 

"By  this  sword "  he  began. 

"Leave  your  sword,  Captain,"  she  said  quickly. 
"You  may  need  it  for  Lord  Clun.  Now  mark  me. 
I  am  a  girl  of  character.  Either  you  make  me  what 
you  vowed  no  maiden  had  ever  been  made  by  you — 
or  the  money  remains  where  it  is,  and  your  sword 
where  it  is.    This  you  do  at  cockcrow  mass  or " 

* '  But,  Peg,  consider !  Consider,  my  solace !  What ! 
I  wed  you  and  fly  your  arms!  Never,  by  the  Kings 
of  Cologne!" 

"We  fly  together,  dear  heart,"  she  said  mildly, 
"or  we  fly  not  at  all;  but  rather  I  return  to  my  lady's 
chamber  and  report  your  false  vows  of  love  to  me, 
and  false  vows  of  duty  to  her.    And  then " 

Captain  Brazenhead  had  one  of  those  moments  of 
doubt  which  attack  the  strongest  men.  King  David 
had  many,  King  Solomon  had  too  many,   Julius 

a88 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  289 

Caesar  had  one,  Alexander  the  Great  a  dozen.  To 
go  back  was  impossible,  to  go  forward — ^against  a 
Count  of  Picpus — "for  I  too,"  he  gloomed  within 
himself,  "I  too  have  pretended  to  the  circlet  of  Pic- 
pus— ah,  and  to  a  Countess  of  Picpus,  by  Cock!" — 
to  go  forward — ^well,  needs  must  be  as  the  Fates  will. 
He  threw  up  his  head.  His  "Ha!"  rang  bravely, 
like  a  challenge  to  the  stars.  "Come,  my  chuck! 
Come,  my  pullet!  Together  we  will  fare,  and  to- 
gether return — with  sheaves,  my  dear,  of  old  Brazen- 
head's  sowing." 
And  he  clasped  her  to  his  heart. 


I  SHALL  not  recount  the  stages  of  a  memorable 
journey,  made  in  the  barque  Bonne  Esperance — a 
barque  whose  name  alone  gave  memories — from 
Sandwich  to  Bordeaux,  for  they  were  stages  for  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  of  little  ease,  and  for  his  lady  also. 
A  brooding  fit  was  upon  the  fine,  sanguine  man,  which 
glazed  his  eyes,  palsied  his  tongue, upset  his  stomach, 
and  impaired  his  appetite.  Golden  sack  turned  sour 
within  him;  small  beer  grew  no  smaller  in  his  un- 
touched glass.  Love,  which  had  never  failed  him, 
did  not  fail  him  now;  but  he  loved  ruefully,  as  a  man 
desperate.  He  terrified  his  mistress  at  once  by  his 
ardour  and  by  his  gloom.  At  a  moment  he  would 
cry,  "With  thee  I  can  brave  old  White-Face,  the  chill 
guest,"  at  the  next,  "Avaunt,  woman,  thou  knowest 
not  the  horrid  tale."  She  did  not  know  it,  and  he 
could  not  tell  her;  by  consequence  she  pictured  it 
more  horrid  than  any  tale  could  be — except  the  tale 
which  I  have  to  tell.  Strange  names  were  often  upon 
his  lips,  uneasily  moving  there  like  wanderers  by  the 
gates  of  cities — aliens  who  dared  neither  out  nor  in. 
"Picpus"  was  one  of  them.  "Picpus!  O  word  of 
dread!"  he  would  mutter;  and  then  "Fie  upon  thee, 
wench,  for  a  light  o'  love — Oh,  Nicole,  oh,  straw- 
haired  quean!"    He  became  sententious,  with  Meg 

290 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  291 

wondering  upon  his  knee.  "What  said  the  Young 
Man  Barefoot — what  said  he?  'Sir,'  said  he,  or 
rather,  'My  lord' — ^as  was  then,  as  you  may  say,  the 
due  of  my  long  sword  and  hairy  arm,  'My  lord,  your 
lordship  shall  travel  the  length  and  breadth  of  your 
lordship's  seigniory,  and  find  no  man  more  wretched 
than  this  one.'  '  What  one,  O  barefoot  young  man  ? ' 
said  I  astonied;  and  he  answered,  'He  who,  having 
ventured  all  for  his  belly,  now  findeth  his  belly  all  he 
hath  to  venture  withal!'  Great  words  in  one  so 
young  and  so  barefoot.  But  he  was  a  poet,  God  be 
good  to  him  above — a  poet,  good  lack,  and  a  lover." 
And  then  he  fell  to  his  glooming  again  and  his  mutter- 
ing of  "Picpus!  Picpus!  O  word  of  dread!"  and 
a  mariner,  brailing  up  the  mainsail,  paused  in  his  toil 
and  hailed  him  as  "Old  Sallowguts"  and  had  no  re- 
tort at  all.  It  was  not  well  with  Captain  Brazenhead 
when  such  things  could  be. 

Mistress  Meg  was  a  lass  of  spirit  and  resource,  who 
had  not  been  principal  bedchamber  woman  to  a  die- 
away  baroness  for  nothing.  All  that  could  be  done 
to  stimulate  a  flagging  hero  with  glancing  eye,  finger 
in  the  mouth,  sidelong  look,  or  affectionate  disposition 
of  the  shoulder  was  done,  and  handsomely  done. 
But  when  they  were  done  in  vain,  the  spretcB  injuria 
formes  grew  hot  within  her,  kindled,  and  burst  forth 
in  flame.  She  railed  upon  his  grizzling  beard,  upon 
his  straining  belt ;  she  reproached  him  for  his  figure, 
upon  his  nose  that  drooped  to  his  chin,  upon  his  chin 
that  lapped  upon  his  chest  like  idle  waves  in  summer. 
She  called  him  pot-valiant,  a  chamber  hero,  a  knight 


292  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

of  the  taproom,  a  tongue-fighter,  a  cock  of  the  mid- 
den. She  doubted  his  prowess,  doubted  his  honour, 
doubted  his  love.  "A  many  wenches  and  a  many 
hast  thou  cozened,  old  Frolicsome,"  cried  she. 
*'Who  is  this  straw-haired  woman,  this  Nicole? 
Who  this  Picpus?  Who  thy  barefoot  poet?  Let 
me  tell  thee,  thou  Scandal  of  Christians,  that  there 
are  better  men  than  thou  abroad;  and  give  thee  to 
wite  that  thy  Picpus  may  find  a  maid  of  Kent  as  kind 
as  thou,  in  thy  abominations,  thy  freckled  French 
woman.  Give  me  no  kisses,  thou  stale  pollution,  or 
I  scream." 

He  gave  her  none,  being  deep  in  his  dejection ;  and 
the  spires  and  turrets  of  Bordeaux,  the  shining  river, 
the  shipping,  the  drums  ashore,  the  sea-birds  afloat 
spread  their  gallant  invitations  vainly  before  as  dis- 
united a  pair  as  ever  left  England  arm  in  arm  and 
viewed  fair  France  back  to  back. 

The  bustle  of  the  landing,  the  quarrels  with  the 
customs,  the  putting  to  flight  of  wharf-men,  mendi- 
cants, limping  veterans,  and  bold  women  restored  a 
kind  of  spirit  to  the  hero  of  a  hundred  quay-side 
tussles.  "Avaunt,  spawn  of  Mahomet!  Out  upon 
ye,  night-witches!  Pickthanks,  I  spurn  ye!"  Such 
were  the  bold  words  of  Captain  Brazenhead,  as  with 
flashing  eye  and  bristling  nostrils  he  drove  into  the 
press.  But  even  so  his  ills  overtook  him,  for  scarce 
was  his  last  injurious  term  out  of  his  mouth,  when  he 
was  struck  flat  by  a  memory.  "Pickthanks,  said  I! 
There  was  a  Picpus,  I  do  remember.  Woe  is  me, 
for  Picpus  lives  yet!"    His  head  sank  once  more,  his 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  293 

nose  hid  in  his  beard ;  insensibly  he  led  the  way  into 
the  town,  insensibly  to  himself,  but  led  nevertheless 
by  dogging  Fate,  his  footsteps  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Ferronniere,  and  inevitably,  as  surely 
as  a  blind  man  is  pulled  by  his  dog  to  the  butcher's 
shop,  to  the  threshold  of  the  tavern  of  The  Stag. 
Now  this  was  an  inn  of  memories.  At  the  door,  it  is 
true,  Captain  Brazenhead  started,  threw  up  his  head, 
and  slapped  his  forehead  a  resounding  crack.  "Not 
here,  O  seventh-bom,  not  here!  Ha!  Nicole  of  the 
gillyflower,  not  here!"  But  Meg  Mallow,  out  of 
patience  with  his  tantrums,  urged  him  forward  with  a 
vigorous  punch  in  the  small  of  the  back.  It  was 
done  with  the  knee.  "In  with  thee,  thou  jelly-bag," 
cried  she  injuriously,  "and  let  an  honest  woman  break 
her  fast."  It  need  hardly  be  said  that  such  things 
had  never  happened  to  the  hero  before.  Headlong 
to  his  destiny.  Captain  Brazenhead  plunged  into  The 
Stag  and  scattered  a  cheerful  company. 


VI 

There  were  three  capuchins  sipping  old  ale;  there 
were,  upon  the  knees  of  these  worthies,  three  damsels 
of  mechanical  smiles  and  very  shrill  laughter;  there 
was  an  old  cheese-wife  called  Joyeuse ;  there  were  two 
apprentices  who  ought  to  have  known  better,  and  one 
chantry-priest  who  did  not.  In  the  midst  was  a  very 
tall  man  masked,  and  leaning  upon  a  naked  sword, 
who,  the  moment  he  saw  the  newcomers,  fixed  his 
piercing  eyes  (one  saw  them  like  smouldering  bea- 
cons through  the  holes)  upon  Meg  Mallow  and  never 
took  them  off  her  for  a  single  Instant.  Whose  was 
this  awful  form  ?  Whose  were  these  enkindled  eyes  ? 
Who  had  a  nose  so  long  and  bony,  so  bushed  about 
the  nostrils  with  black  hairs,  so  shining  with  heat 
that  you  could  have  lit  a  slow  match  at  it,  and  fired 
a  powder-magazine  comfortably  ?  With  such  a  nose 
you  would  have  no  need  of  a  street-lamp  to  fetch  you 
to  your  home.  A  pillar  of  fire  by  night!  And  by 
day  clouds  about  it,  to  veil  up  its  majesty  from  hardy 
eyes!  With  such  a  nose  what  must  the  rest  not  be? 
But  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the  remaining  features 
saving  the  deep-recessed,  burning,  and  steady-gazing 
eyes.  Captain  Brazenhead — for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  of  violence  and  crime  and  gallantry — gaped,  be- 
reft of  utterance,  upon  his  own  equal — alas!  upon  his 

294 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  295 

more  than  equal.  For  who,  under  heaven's  beam, 
could  this  be  but  himself  as  he  knew  himself? 
Cowed  and  dazzled,  he  saluted  the  company  mechan- 
ically, and  received  their  salutations.  The  masked 
magnifico  acknowledged  him  with  a  mere  jerk  of  the 
head:  all  his  interest  was  turned  upon  the  sloe-eyed 
Mistress  Meg. 

Never  was  so  humble  an  entry  of  so  splendid  a  per- 
son. Captain  Brazenhead,  after  a  few  moments  of 
effort  which  started  the  sweat  in  every  gland,  gave 
over  and  leaned  against  the  wall.  Before  the  enquu-- 
ing  serving-maid  he  was  speechless:  it  was  Meg 
Mallow  who  ordered  sheep's  trotters  in  vinegar,  black 
bread  and  beer;  and  it  was  she  who  ate  most  of  this 
rare  provand  when  it  came.  The  company  in  the 
inn,  after  raising  of  eyebrows  and  essays  of  the  nose, 
after  a  wink  here,  a  clack  of  the  tongue  there,  a 
"H'm,  a  choice  piece  for  so  much  ruin  to  hold,"  and 
the  like  impertinence,  resumed  its  varied  occupation. 
The  tall  masked  figure  only  seemed  still  absorbed 
in  the  new-comers,  was  still  closely  observant  of  the 
damsel,  and  entirely  unconscious  of  her  cavalier;  was 
still  inscrutably  silent,  with  a  kind  of  suspended  pur- 
pose in  his  meditations,  rather  dreadful  to  consider. 
His  air  was  the  air  of  a  hawk  in  the  blue  as,  high  above 
a  gorse-bespread  common,  he  soars  and  waits — to 
the  consternation  of  the  finches  who  flutter  and  dart 
in  and  out  of  their  prickly  cover.  The  figure  is  not 
so  exact  as  it  might  be;  for  in  The  Stag  there  was 
neither  flutter  nor  darting — and  there  was  only  one 
finch.     Captain  Brazenhead,  thirteenth  Champion  of 


296  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

Christendom,  hero  of  every  shock  of  arms  from 
Constantinople  to  Cork,  eagle  among  sparrows,  sun 
among  stars,  was  now  that  finch. 

Noise  in  the  street,  the  clattering  of  horses  and  jin- 
gling of  brass  on  the  flagstones;  the  flinging  open  of 
doors,  the  inward  sweep  of  men-at-arms;  a  sudden 
flood  of  sound — The  Stag  was  choked  with  soldiers, 
mostly  drunk.  There  were  cries  to  be  distinguished 
by  a  fine  ear,  cries  of  "En  route,  messieurs! ^^  cries  to 
a  leader,  cries  of  devotion  to  a  cause.  The  tall 
masked  man  was  the  centre  of  the  commotion,  the  one 
fixed  point  in  the  flood  of  cross-purpose.  He  stood 
calm  and  unwinking  while  about  him  surged  a  host. 
He,  it  was  to  be  seen,  was  the  leader,  to  him  their 
devotion ;  his  was  the  cause,  theirs  the  glory  to  fulfil. 
Suddenly  his  sword  flashed  above  their  heads,  and  he 
spoke.  "En  avantP'  he  roared,  in  such  tones  that 
the  pewter  pots  upon  the  comptoir  rattled  upon  their 
bases,  and  one  large  flagon  split  from  rim  to  rim; 
"En  avant,  by  Cock!"  and  they  all  bundled  out  into 
the  street.  The  tavern  emptied;  none  remained 
within  doors  but  three — the  great,  poising  unknown, 
the  crushed  and  bearded  ex-hero,  and  the  sloe-eyed 
wench.  With  fearful  precipitance  the  hawk  pounced. 
His  eyes  flaming  like  swords  in  the  sun,  he  crossed 
the  floor.  He  towered  over  the  travellers,  with  a 
great  gesture  he  flung  the  fold  of  his  cloak  over  his 
shoulder,  and  in  that  act  swept  from  the  table  sheep's- 
trotters,  beer  and  black  bread.  He  pointed  to  the 
centre  of  the  damsel's  breast.  "Follow  me ! "  he  said 
terribly;  and  she  arose  and  followed  him. 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  297 

Captain  Brazenhead,  the  colour  of  death,  was  left 
sole  occupant  of  the  kitchen  of  The  Stag.  There  he 
sat,  motionless,  leaden,  and  vast,  for  how  long  the 
Lord  only  knows.  The  trampling  of  horses  and 
jingling  of  harness  had  died  down;  already  the  voice 
of  the  man  who  sold  cat's-meat  had  gained  the  mas- 
tery of  the  Rue  de  la  Ferronniere.  It  was  high  noon, 
but  still  the  tavern  was  empty.  Then  Captain  Bra- 
zenhead, alone  in  his  agony,  lifted  up  his  head. 
Remote,  unfriended,  solitary,  slow,  he  defied  his  af- 
fairs. His  fist  smote  the  table;  his  voice  made  his 
boast  for  him.  "By  Cock  and  his  father,  but  I'm 
not  in  the  ditch  yet.  If  I  tear  not  the  windpipe  from 
that  throat  of  brass,  never  call  me  Brazenhead 
again."  It  was  proudly  said,  though  nobody  heard 
it.  He  left  the  tavern,  and  stumbled  blindly  into 
the  street. 


VII 

How  Captain  Brazenhead  stole  a  horse  need  not 
be  recounted;  but  a  horse  he  stole, and  never  a  better, 
and  followed  as  hard  as  could  be  the  road  taken  by 
the  veiled  stranger  and  his  cavalcade.  It  was  the 
southern  road,  as  he  vividly  recalled,  which  in  the 
company  of  one  Pym  of  the  drooped  eyelid  he  had 
taken  many  years  before,  in  those  wild  days  when  he 
had  put  a  clove  carnation  stalk  between  the  bright 
lips  of  Nicole  La-Gr^ce-de-Dieu,  and  had,  of  the  sud- 
denest,  turned  from  his  journey  and  pelted  back  to 
Bordeaux,  to  wrest  that  fair  maid  from  Simon  Mus- 
champ,  to  lay  Simon  fast  bound  upon  the  larder  shelf, 
to  assume  the  name  and  dignity  of  Count  of  Picpus, 
to  make  Nicole  his  Countess,  and  to  follow  the  call 
for  help  which  sounded  in  his  ears  from  far  Provence 
and  Madame  Roesia  Des-Baux.  Alack,  those  golden 
days  of  vaunt  and  vagrancy — no  vagrant  was  he  now, 
with  no  vaunting  at  his  need !  No,  but  a  man  over- 
weary of  his  paunch  who  had  been  robbed  of  his  mis- 
tress, honour,  and  purse  by  some  tall  rascal,  as  like 
what  he  himself  had  been  as  one  pea  is  like  his  neigh- 
bour in  the  pod.  "That  trickster  stood  up  my  very 
self,"  he  mused,  "My  inches,  my  trenchant  way 
with  all  and  sundry,  my  great  nose,  my  fire.  Ha, 
mort  de  Dieul*^    And  he  faced  the  sun  with  his  ques- 

398 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  299 

tion.  "And  who  but  Brazenhead  is  Brazenhead's 
peer?"  They  say  that  somewhere,  in  some  busy 
coign  of  this  earth,  there  lives  and  works  the  counter- 
part of  every  mother's  son.  If  this  were  now  his 
double  brought  up  in  dreadful  rivalry?  If  he  were 
to  come  to  the  grapple  with  himself — lock  arms, 
crook  with  the  legs,  engage  with  teeth  and  desperate 
fingers,  grunt  breath  for  hot  breath  with  himself? 
Madness  lay  in  the  very  thought ;  he  dare  not  picture 
it.  Nor  dare  he  let  slip  in  fear,  even  into  the  vestibule 
of  his  heart,  that,  in  such  a  battle,  not  he,  as  he  stood 
here,  would  prevail.  "The  knave  hath  my  ancient 
suppleness;  his  joints  are  greased  with  that  grease  I 
had  once.  The  knave  hath  my  licking  tongue  that 
smoothed  down  the  words  till  they  were  slab  as  butter. 
He  hath  my  lightsome  heart,  my  brain  of  fire.  And 
what  have  I,  old  Brazenhead  the  steward,  but  this 
sagging  paunch,  these  rheumy  eyes,  this  long  tooth, 
and  this  gray  beard?  Alack,  alack,  the  mighty  fall 
before  the  battle  is  cried." 

These  were  no  thoughts  for  a  long  journey,  but  he 
could  find  no  better.  He  rode  through  the  melan- 
choly wastes  which  men  call  Landes,  for  no  better 
reason  belike  than  that  they  are  three  parts  water, 
careless  of  his  charger's  paces,  careless  of  who  saw 
him  or  whom  he  saw,  chewing  the  sour  cud  of  his 
thoughts,  and  mindful  of  the  under-current  of  spheral 
music  which  said,  rhythmically,  steadily,  and  with 
muffled  tones,  "Brazenhead,  Brazenhead,  thou  man 
of  deeds;  Brazenhead,  O  Brazenhead,  thine  hour  is 
nigh."    He  climbed  long  stretches  of  scrubby  heath, 


300  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

scarce  broken  by  trees,  descended  slopes  of  the  same 
to  marishes,  salt  pools,  lagoons  of  reed  and  rush. 
He  picked,  or  his  horse  picked,  an  uneasy  way  in  and 
out  of  boulders,  over  pebble  ridges,  round  about 
desolate  dunes,  through  the  silent  streets  of  villages 
where  pale  children  stalked  on  stilts,  and  scared 
women  crossed  themselves  to  see  the  gloomy  visitor. 
Sometimes  he  had  tidings  of  the  company  before  him, 
sometimes  could  gather  none;  but  on  he  pushed, 
nursing  the  wrath  to  come,  and  forward  fared  the 
good  stout  horse,  with  his  nose  as  often  to  the  ground 
as  not. 

His  thoughts  foraged  in  the  future  without  zest; 
they  explored  the  past,  but  found  no  comfort  there. 
For  no  sooner  did  they  find  themselves  in  the  golden 
haze  of  happy  memory,  but  like  a  blight  borne  swiftly 
on  a  chill  wind  came  his  present  case  to  blot  out  all 
the  sun  and  turn  the  warmth  to  dreariment.  Feats 
of  arms,  feats  of  Love — encounters  in  both  kinds 
where  he  was  always  the  flushed  conqueror:  of  what 
avail  these  stirring  themes  when  now  he  knew  himself 
cast  off  by  ladies,  held  cheap  by  his  rivals?  Rivals! 
that  he  should  have  rivals!  Had  it  come  then  to 
that?  But  if  Meg  Mallow — black-eyed  slut — could 
pass  him  over,  was  she  not  ill-advised,  mad  per- 
chance, bitten  by  worm  or  poisonous  gnat  ?  Ah,  to 
think  of  Joconde — that  slip  of  myrtle  and  honey- 
suckle, that  willowy  maid  of  Besanjon,  that  sidelong 
looker,  finger-biter,  that  glancer  of  the  threshold — to 
think  of  Joconde!  There  at  least  was  happy  mem- 
ory, envisaging  Besanjon's  narrow  streets,  river  life, 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  301 

and  the  hustle  and  brawl  of  the  minster  close  when 
the  prentices  were  out  and  my  Lord  of  Turenne's 
men  disputed  the  ground  with  them.  And  Bor- 
deaux, Bordeaux,  and  droop-eyed  Pym,  and  the  fair 
Nicole  La-Grace-de-Dieu — ply,  Memory,  ply,  thou 
hast  a  stout  web  before  thee!  What  maid  of  what 
inn  could  withstand  so  mad  a  wooer  ?  Not,  for  sure, 
Nicole  La-Grace-de-Dieu.  He  won  her  with  a  gilly- 
flower, but  ravished  her  with  a  Countess's  circlet. 
"Be  Madame  de  Picpus,  and  my  bride!"  he  had  said 
— and  where  lay  Simon  Muschamp,  that  singing- 
mouse,  the  while?  Strapped  like  a  ham  on  the 
larder  shelf.  O  lovely,  kind,  glowing  Nicole,  not  for 
thee  to  refuse  this  blusterous  wooer !  But  now — ah, 
soft !  'Twas  Liperata's  turn — that  meek  and  lovely, 
soothfast  one.  For  what  a  fate  was  she  reserved, 
widow  of  an  assassin,  but  Duchess  of  Milan!  He, 
Brazenhead,  had  called  her  his  partridge,  and  made 
her  his  Duchess.  Duchess  of  Milan,  Liperata 
Duchess  of  Milan,  alma  conjux  of  the  mighty  Duke 
Salomon  Testadirame,  Duke  of  Milan!  What  dizzy 
heights,  what  windy  places  for  a  little  woman  called  a 
man's  partridge!  Ply,  Memory,  ply  this  golden 
thread  in  thy  spreading  woof,  that  the  falling  hero, 
enwrapped  in  its  amplitude,  may  watch  thy  bright 
meander  and  take  its  comfort  to  his  own! 

With  such  provender  did  Captain  Brazenhead, 
sore  beset  upon  his  latest  pilgrimage,  feed  his  hungry 
heart;  and  when,  after  a  meal  of  the  sort,  he  glanced 
down  at  his  sliding  chest,  and  marked  how  very  much 
it  was  engulfed  in  his  lower  reaches,  there  was  noth- 


302 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 


ing  for  it  but  to  begin  again,  and  make  another  attack 
upon  his  stored  memory — in  which  the  Sultan  of 
Persia,  two  Popes  of  Rome  and  Avignon,  the  long- 
armed  Bilboan,  and  other  heroes  of  antiquity  and  his 
own  day  played  parts  not  inferior  to  his  own.  And 
so  he  memorised  and  glowed,  and  so  he  looked  at  his 
paunch  and  felt  acold.  And  all  this  took  up  a  full 
three  weeks,  which  was  all  the  time  allowed  by  my 
Lady  Say  to  find  the  Lord  of  Clun,  cut  him  in  half, 
recover  the  forefinger  ring,  and  return  with  it  to 
Knole.  But  his  own  troubles  had  so  far  swallowed 
up  his  patron's  that  if  you  had  reminded  him  of  her, 
he  would  have  turned  upon  you  with  the  reply, 
"  There  is  no  such  lady  as  my  Lady  Say,  and  the  Lord 
of  Clun  hath  no  middle  the  which  to  sever  at  a 
blow!" 


VIII 

At  the  end  of  the  third  week  he  had  crossed  the 
frontier  of  Navarre,  and  was  close  up  to  the  mountain 
ramparts  of  its  southern  boundary.  / 

He  had  had  tidings  before  ever  he  saw  the  snow- 
clad  peaks.  My  Lord  of  Picpus,  he  had  been  told, 
with  a  gay  company  of  minstrels,  lovers,  ladies,  and 
running  dogs  had  gone  into  the  mountains  for  his 
pleasure.  They  were  to  hold  a  Court  of  Love,  in 
which  the  Count  himself  was  to  take  the  field  against 
all  comers;  a  Court  of  Beauty  in  which  a  Golden 
Plum  was  to  be  bestowed  upon  his  lordship  by  the 
chosen  fair.  Why,  in  God's  name,  upon  his  lord- 
ship ?  he  had  cried  out,  and  had  been  answered,  be- 
cause his  lordship  was  about  to  be  victor  in  the  lists. 
To  which  the  only  answer  Captain  Brazenhead  had 
to  hand  was,  "Oh,  was  he  so?"  And  when  to  the 
assurance  that  so  he  was.  Captain  Brazenhead  with 
an  oath  had  replied,  "Let  this  false  Picpus  look  for 
me,"  the  answer  of  the  blinking  cleric,  his  informant, 
had  been,  "His  lordship  will  deal  with  you,  sir,  as 
King  Solomon  with  the  Queen  of  Sheba — in  whom, 
we  read,  after  treatment,  there  was  no  more  spirit  at 
all.  It  is  clear,  dear  sir,"  the  good  man  had  added, 
"that  you  know  not  the  prowess,  and  have  not  had 
report  of  the  deeds  of  him  we  call  Count  of  Picpus. 

303 


304  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

He  is  the  mightiest  lover  and  swiftest  smiter,  I  dare 
say,  of  any  now  calling  Christ  his  Redeemer.  'Tis 
said  that,  as  man  to  man,  he  once  took  the  Pope  by 
the  beard.  'Tis  said  that,  armed  with  the  thigh- 
bone of  a  philosopher,  he  slew  three  hundred  Ana- 
baptists— "  Captain  Brazenhead  threw  up  his  head 
and  howled  like  a  dog.  "Miserable  priest,  'twas 
myself  who  achieved  all  this — and  more!"  he  roared 
at  him.  But  the  priest  shook  his  head.  "Not 
likely,"  he  said,  "not  Hkely.  These  are  the  deeds 
of  a  younger  man.  That  beard,  that  swelling 
paunch — "  But  Captain  Brazenhead,  too  proud  to 
argue,  too  dreary  to  refute,  left  the  clergyman,  and 
pushed  on. 

Omens  gathered  about  him,  thick  as  flies,  and 
dark.  He  saw  an  old  crow  on  a  rock-littered  hillside 
preening  a  ragged  wing,  and  anon  pausing  to  croak 
his  misfortune  to  the  empty  air.  He  saw  a  three- 
legged  fox — a  very  bad  sign.  He  saw  a  sheep  on  its 
back,  and  ravens  wheeling  above  him.  He  saw  a 
blind  beggar  lead  another  into  a  water-course.  He 
saw  three  wenches  and  a  clown,  which  is  too  many, 
and  two  gypsy  women  and  a  child,  which  is  too  few. 
When  he  hailed  them  to  tell  them  his  good  fortune, 
they  stared,  looked  at  one  another,  and  laughed. 
Then  said  one,  "Avaunt,  thou  old  goat,"  and  both 
shrilled  together.  Heavy  tidings  all  these,  to  a  man 
on  edge  with  sensibility. 

He  entered  a  gloomy  defile  where  a  bridle-path  was 
cut  out  of  the  rock,  and  the  crags  closed  in  above 
you  almost  to  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sky.    He  ad- 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  305 

dressed  himself  to  God  and  pushed  forward.  There 
seemed  no  way  out — so  far  as  eye  could  pierce 
the  murk  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  rock 
answering  to  rock,  and  peak  edging  upon  peak.  If 
the  joyous  company  had  passed  this  way,  it  must  have 
been  in  file,  and  it  were  strange  that  some  hint  of 
their  going  had  not  been  left  upon  bush  or  sharp- 
toothed  stone.  But  search  the  most  anxious  revealed 
little  or  nothing.  A  scrap  or  two  of  paper  with 
music  scored  upon  it ;  a  word  or  two  upon  it,  "  O  love, 
alas!"  or  "Ah,  breast  of  snowi  '  To  Captain  Bra- 
zenhead,  who  had  never  been  a  reader,  these  waifs 
of  story  told  nothing.  A  filament  of  silk,  stained  red 
and  green,  told  him  more.  He  preserved  it  carefully; 
and  then  a  faded  rosebud — and  then  a  glove.  I 
don't  know  what  he  had  expected — ^whether  that  the 
company  should  have  shed  garment  after  garment, 
kicked  off  their  shoes,  or  hung  portraits  of  themselves 
upon  the  box  and  juniper  bushes  with  which  the 
mountains  were  thick ;  but  he  was  disappointed  with 
his  reHcs.  "All  goes  amiss  with  me,  good  lack. 
The  time  was  when,  stern-chasing  like  this,  she 
would  have  left  me  clear  word  that  I  was  to  follow. 
A  lock  of  her.  lustrous  hair,  maybe,  a  tooth-pick  that 
was  familiar,  a  nail-paring,  or  a  scarf.  But  no!  Old 
Brazenhead,  the  mighty  lover,  hath  loved  his  last. 
Shame,  shame  on  pretty  women — and  to  the  plague 
with  them  all,  say  I."  But,  even  in  so  saying,  he 
knew  that  he  lied.  It  was  he  who  went  to  the  plague- 
pit,  and  they  that  shunned  it.  The  conqueror  was 
conquered,  the  fryer  of  hearts  now  toasted  himself 


3o6  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

upon  the  grid,  and  Meg  Mallow  basted  him  with 
lard. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  and  nights  the  defile 
opened  suddenly  upon  an  ample  green  valley  bathed 
in  the  full  sun  and  canopied  only  by  the  peerless  blue 
of  heaven.  A  fair  river  watered  it ;  on  either  side  of 
that  were  fresh  meads,  trees  in  yellow  autumn  leaf; 
beyond  them  upland  pastures  climbed  toward  the 
girdle  of  mountains. 

There,  finally,  amid-scene  he  beheld  silk  pavilions, 
flags,  and  gay  company.  Ladies  were  seated  in  a 
half -ring  upon  the  grass;  minstrels  in  parti-colour 
stood  with  lutes  in  their  hands.  Tall  and  command- 
ing, in  golden  raiment  with  a  blood-coloured  cloak, 
in  beaver  and  pheasant's  feather,  with  sword  and 
mask,  surveyed  the  ladies,  surveyed  the  dappled 
meadow,  the  terrible  stranger  of  Bordeaux,  who  called 
himself  Count  of  Picpus.  Captain  Brazenhead's 
brain  reeled.  All  this  then  was  true.  It  was  no 
dream.  There  was  such  a  man,  and  there  below 
him,  awaiting,  he  was.  The  time  was  at  hand  when 
two  champions  must  prove  each  other. 

Meantime  the  Lord  of  Clun,  with  unsawed  middle, 
and  Lady  Say's  forefinger  ring  about  his  neck  by  a 
chain,  was  in  the  good  city  of  Paris  with  his  friend  the 
Duke  of  Clarence. 


IX 

Addressed  finally  to  the  adventure,  his  horse 
abandoned,  Captain  Brazenhead  like  some  huge 
bird  of  prey  hopped  down  the  rocks — with  arms  ex- 
tended, and  cloak  spread  broad  like  flaggy  wings. 
At  every  perch  he  cawed  defiance.  "Have  at  thee, 
thief!"  "Dog!  I  dare  thee!"  "False  Picpus,  face 
the  true!"  and  other  like  challenges.  For  some  time 
the  air  received  his  cries  and  wafted  them  from  peak 
to  peak  of  the  mountains.  Echo  here  tossed  them 
to  echo  yonder.  The  name  of  Picpus,  the  name  of 
dog  reverberated,  the  one  like  hissing  water  where 
it  boils  in  some  close  inlet  of  the  sea,  the  other,  with 
its  assonants  of  hog,  log,  bog,  and  the  like,  flew  round 
the  valley  like  the  shots  of  a  cannon.  But  the  com- 
pany below,  being  weU  out  of  range,  heard  neither, 
and  continued  their  amorous  play. 

Nevertheless  Captain  Brazenhead  descended  by 
leaps  and  bounds,  and,  descending,  hurled  injury 
after  injury  upon  his  unconscious  rival.  So  by  and 
by  one  of  the  seated  ladies  looked  brightly  up,  saw 
him,  and  pointed  him  out.  The  minstrels  stopped 
the  thrumming  of  their  lutes;  the  grooms  by  the 
horses  were  all  attention,  and  the  magnificent  person, 
the  centre  of  their  sports,  himself  veered  about  and, 
leaning  upon  his  long  sword,  watched  the  calamitous 

307  ' 


3o8  THE   LAST  ADVENTURE 

approach  of  his  enemy.  That,  as  it  neared  its  term — 
which  can  only  be  said  to  have  been  the  breast  of  the 
awaiting  swordsman,  or  the  point  of  his  blade — was 
heralded  by  the  flight  of  innumerable  small  birds — 
finches,  linnets,  and  what  not — scared  from  their 
nests  and  fastnesses  as  by  the  imminence  of  some  vast 
monster  of  the  air.  These  flickering  songsters,  as 
they  flew  in  a  cloud  over  the  heads  of  the  gay  com- 
pany in  the  meadow,  caused  the  scarves  of  the  ladies 
to  stream  in  the  wind,  and  made  the  milk-white  pal- 
freys snort  as  they  inhaled  the  dust.  Thus,  as  a 
fresh  gale  presages  the  storm  of  thunder  and  rain 
which  is  to  wreak  destruction  on  the  land,  these 
feathered  heralds  prepared  the  little  band  for  wreck 
and  ruin. 

When  Captain  Brazenhead  had  reached  the  valley 
bottom,  and  had  no  more  than  a  hundred  yards  of 
level  going  between  him  and  the  death  besought — 
to  impart  or  receive,  he  cared  not  which — he  paused 
to  take  the  great  breath  of  which  he  had  need.  Not 
only  was  his  person  discomposed,  but  it  was  quite 
impossible  for  him  to  compass  any  more  terms  of  re- 
proach, partly  because  he  could  not  remember  any 
more  in  any  of  the  five  languages  of  which  he  was 
master,  and  partly  because  he  had  neither  voice  nor 
breath  at  his  command.  "Winded,  by  Cock!"  was 
all  that  he  could  now  say,  and  the  reproach  of  that 
was  aimed  at  himself.  On  their  side,  the  three  la- 
dies with  their  single  cavalier  awaited  him  with  inter- 
est but  in  silence ;  and  the  minstrels,  their  lutes  slung 
over  their  shoulders,  folded  their  hands  before  them 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  309 

and  stood  at  what  is  called  ease.  The  sun  shone  in 
the  clear  pale  sky,  the  trees  in  their  golden  dress  of  de- 
parture swayed  and  ruffled  in  the  breeze;  the  river 
foamed  and  bickered  as  it  surged  among  the  rocks; 
all  that  favoured  span  of  earth  was  at  peace,  and 
nothing  in  visible  creation  groaned  and  travailed  but 
man,  and  that  man  Captain  Brazenhead,  the  hero 
weary  and  far  spent,  who  fetched  up  his  breath  as 
the  housewife  water  from  a  well  by  means  of  a  crazy 
windlass,  with  creakings  and  groanings  terrible  to 
hear. 

But  fetch  it  up  he  did,  in  ample  store  for  his  pur- 
pose; and  then  with  drawn  sword,  and  cloak  thrown 
over  one  shoulder,  stalked  greatly  to  the  proof. 
Nothing  in  his  life  became  him  like  this  dreadful  test- 
ing of  it.  I  think  that  he  knew  what  awaited  him 
there  upon  the  enamelled  sward ;  for  when  he  found 
it  his  senses  reeled  no  more.  His  calmness  at  the 
shocking  discovery  was  proof  against  shock.  Not  a 
word  can  henceforth  be  uttered  by  moralist,  theolo- 
gian or  doctor  of  law  against  this  hero's  essential 
magnanimity.  With  calm  eyes  beneath  his  brows, 
with  those  brows  unruffled,  with  cheeks  unpaled,  he 
stood  confronting  himself — himself,  and  no  other 
— and  the  ladies  on  the  grass.  Of  these  one  was, 
of  course.  Mistress  Mallow  of  the  household  of 
Knole,  Mistress  Mallow  the  buxom  and  sloe-eyed, 
but  dressed  now  in  murrey-coloured  velvet  of  Genoa, 
and  about  her  peaked  head-dress  a  scarf  of  gold  and 
white  gauze.  And  Mistress  Mallow  was  perturbed 
if  her  reprover  was  not.    Words  were  on  the  tip  of 


3IO  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

her  pointed  tongue;  but  she  said  nothing.  The 
other  pair  of  ladies  may  be  briefly  described.  One 
was  com-haired,  flushed,  and  gray-eyed.  She  had 
a  sharp  chin  and  a  fine  figure.  She  confronted  Cap- 
tain Brazenhead  with  arms  akimbo,  bending  forward 
from  her  hips,  as  a  maid  of  the  house  looks  up  at  you 
from  her  knees,  or  a  maid  of  the  laundry  from  her 
board  by  the  river.  Her  lips  were  very  red,  and  upon 
them,  crimson  upon  scarlet,  was  a  clove-carnation, 
whose  stalk  her  teeth  held  fast.  Her  gown  was  a 
goodly  green,  and  her  scarf  was  blue.  The  third 
lady  was  demure  as  a  wimpled  nun,  and  kept  her 
eyes  upon  her  lap.  If  for  a  moment  she  might  lift 
them  you  would  have  discovered  them  unfathomable 
brown.  She  was  grave  and  attentive.  It  was  clear 
she  saw  but  one  thing  at  a  time,  and  that  thing,  al- 
ways, her  duty.  She  was  dressed  in  a  rich  brocade 
of  Genoa,  of  which  the  groundwork  was  orange- 
tawny,  and  the  figures  worked  in  black  and  gold. 
As  for  the  squire  of  these  noble  persons,  he  was  now 
unveiled,  and  showed  as  a  splendid  figure  of  a  man  of, 
it  might  be,  some  thirty-seven  summers.  Straight 
six  feet  four,  beaked  like  a  very  fine  eagle,  hairy  to  a 
fault,  with  moustachios  which  swept  upward  to  a 
point  midway  between  his  eyes  and  the  tips  of  his  ears, 
with  hair  gushing  from  his  nostrils  like  water-spray 
from  the  cracks  in  a  hatch,  with  hair  upon  his  fingers, 
the  backs  of  his  hands,  and  as  far  as  one  could  see 
welling  from  some  inexhaustible  spring  within  the 
recesses  of  his  clothing,  with  eyes  deep  and  glowing, 
with  the  swiftness  of  tigers  in  every  line  of  his  limbs — 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  311 

this  was  the  terrible  guardian  of  the  honour  of  three 
ladies,  with  every  one  of  whom  Captain  Brazenhead, 
spent  as  he  was,  was  about  to  claim  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, dating,  in  some  cases,  from  many  years  back. 

But  first  he  came  to  terms,  as  was  fitting,  with  his 
man.  Plucking  at  his  beard  with  one  hand,  shaking 
his  sword  in  the  other — "Thou  purfled  thing,"  said 
Captain  Brazenhead  in  deep  tones  of  a  bell,  "thou 
inflamed  weed,  who  from  some  midden-heap  hast 
arisen " 

But  the  younger  hero  cut  the  words  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  in  a  clear,  smooth  voice  which  wound 
about  the  circumpendent  slopes  like  a  scarlet  ribbon, 
picked  up  the  parable  and  turned  it  to  his  own  ex- 
alted purpose. 

"Purfled  am  I,  thou  old  deceiver,  being  full  store 
of  high  blood,  descendant  of  kings,  and  king  (or  at 
least  Duke)  by  right  of  sword.  And  inflamed  am  I 
likewise  by  great  endeavour,  even  as  thou  mumblest 
in  thy  toothless  chaps,  O  thou  graybeard,  wagging 
for  penury.  But  weed,  by  Cock,  am  I  none,  and  I 
cast  it  back  into  thy  throat  as  all  the  alms  thou  wilt 
get  from  me,  thou  robber  of  infants  and  wheedler  of 
the  simple." 

Calm  and  unflinching.  Captain  Brazenhead  re- 
proved the  man  by  a  question.  "  Dost  thou  not  know 
me  then,  thou  pale  egg  of  evil  ?  Dost  thou  strike  at 
random,  little  snake  ?    Know  me  then  to  thy  shame. 

Late  of  Burgundy,  formerly  of  Milan "     But 

the  other  flamed  high. 

''Late,  thou!    Formerly,  thou!    Ay,  late  indeed — 


312  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

ay,  thou  stultifier  of  youth.  For  know  thou  me,  as 
now  of  Burgundy,  as  now  of  Milan — and  pocket  thy 
stale  reports."  And  then,  to  Captain  Brazenhead's 
entire  dismay,  he  began  this  account  of  himself: 

"When  with  this  sword  and  sinewy  arm,  being 
otherwise  mother-naked,  I  slew  the  Sultan  of  Baby- 
lon in  his  pride,  and  all  the  towers  of  his  chief  city 
rocked  to  see  it,  so  great  was  the  concourse  of  the 
people — where  wert  thou,  but  queasing  over  thy  sea- 
coal  fire,  stirring  grouts  in  a  pipkin  ?  And  when,  as 
one  man  with  another,  sitting  in  familiar  discourse 
with  the  Holy  Father,  I  flicked  him  lightly  on  the 
cheek  and  bade  him  prove  himself — where  wert  thou, 
but  filling  that  great  belly  of  thine  with  broken  vict- 
uals under  the  buttery  hatch  ?  And  when  I  plucked 
Milan  from  his  throne,  and  sat  myself  thereupon,  and 
did  judgment  to  all  and  sundry,  having  put  to  rout 
five  thousand  Anabaptists  with  a  shankbone — how 
was  it  then  with  thee  ?  And  of  my  fighting  in  the  pit 
with  countless  cut-throats — and  of  my  Cardinalate — 
and  of  my  County  of  Picpus — ^what  sayest  thou,  old 
foot-in-the-grave  ?  Am  I,  thinkest  thou,  such  an  one 
as  would  stoop  to  lie  to  thee,  having  died  the  death 
these  half -hundred  times?  Foh,  but  thou  art  a 
boaster,  I  believe.  Twenty  times  left  for  dead; 
trampled  twelve  times  out *' 

But  Captain  Brazenhead  here  gave  a  great  cry — 
so  great  that  it  amazed  the  speaker  and  for  a  moment 
stayed  him.  The  elder  man  bent  down  his  crest,  and 
fought  with  his  hands,  as  if  to  clear  the  thick  air. 
And  when  he  lifted  up  his  face  again  there  was  that 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE  313 

in  it  that  compelled  respect  unto  what  he  might  do. 

Slowly  now  he  spoke,  and  all  listened.  "Either 
thou  art  myself,  or  thou  art  nought.  Now  let  me 
put  this  question  to  the  test.  If  thou  art  myself,  be 
sure  that  I  slay  thee;  if  thou  art  nought,  be  sure  also. 
But  if  thou  art  myself,  in  the  act  to  slay  thee,  I  perish, 
and  if  thou  art  nought  I  slay  myself.  Hold  thou 
there  till  I  require  thee;  hold  thou  there." 

He  summoned  all  his  forces,  lifted  himself  to  his  full 
height,  flicked  up  his  moustachios,  and  smoothed 
down  his  beard.  His  sword  he  flung  to  earth;  but  he 
brushed  down  the  ample  folds  of  his  cloak  with  his 
hand  before  he  flung  the  other  end  of  it  over  his 
shoulder.  This  done,  hat  in  hand,  he  stalked  cere- 
moniously forward  and  stood  proudly  before  the 
flushed  lady  whose  mouth  still  held  the  carnation. 

"O  Nicole,"  he  said,  "O  my  Countess  of  Picpus! 
Has  it  come  to  this  that  thou  passest  me  by?" 

But  she  eyed  him  fiercely.  "How  sayest  thou, 
old  rip?"  cried  she.  "How  should  I  be  thy  Count- 
ess of  Picpus,  when  I  am  this  gentleman's?  And 
how  should  thou  be  Count  of  Picpus,  when  he  is  here, 
the  Count's  self  of  Picpus,  so  proper  a  man?  Get 
thee  away,  old  fellow,  and  nurse  thy  paunch." 

Captain  Brazenhead,  of  a  leaden-gray  colour  in  the 
face,  turned  from  that  lady,  and  faced  another,  that 
staider  person  w^ho  sat  upon  Madame  de  Picpus' 
right  hand.  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes  to  him,  but  kept 
them  carefully  upon  her  lap. 

"Dost  thou  remember,  Liperata,  the  cemetery  of 
Sant'  Eustorgio,  and  what  befell  thy  Camus  there?" 


314  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"Thou  wert,"  he  continued  in  grave  tones,  "a 
man's  partridge  once,  O  Liperata!" 

"A  true  man's  partridge  still  am  I,"  she  said. 

"And  who  made  thee  Duchess  of  Milan,  pardie?" 
cried  Captain  Brazenhead  very  wildly. 

She  pointed  to  the  stranger.  "Behold  the  gentle- 
man." 

Captain  Brazenhead  threw  up  his  arms.  Words 
failed  him  quite.  Then  finally  he  turned  upon  Mis- 
tress Mallow  where  bold-eyed  she  sat.  "As  for 
thee,  kitchen-wench,"  said  he,  "I  leave  thee  to  thy 
fate.  Thou  didst  desert  me  for  this  weed.  Get  thy 
good  from  his  carcase,  for  carrion  shall  he  be." 

With  a  howl  like  that  of  a  wounded  wolf,  he 
turned  the  white  of  his  eye  to  the  women,  and  be- 
fore one  could  be  aware  of  the  cheep  of  a  bird  he 
was  upon  the  tall  man.  He,  in  his  turn,  was  all  too 
ready. 

They  engaged  in  silent  and  deadly  grapple. 
Locked,  they  swayed  together.  Captain  Brazenhead's 
teeth  in  the  strange  man's  shoulder,  the  strange  man's 
in  Captain  Brazenhead's.  Round  and  about  they 
whirled,  entirely  silent  and  entirely  gripped.  And 
faster  they  went,  and  faster  still,  and  at  last  so  fast 
that  the  place  seemed  the  vortex  of  great  winds,  with 
a  swirling  mass  of  red  and  yellow  helpless  in  the  cur- 
rent. How  long  this  may  have  endured  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  say:  but  at  last  they  sprang  apart  and  stood 
for  a  more  deadly  bout,  gaping,  panting,  glaring  at 
each  other. 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 


315 


A  second  time  Captain  Brazenhead  howled,  then 
pounced  upon  his  sword,  and  Hfting  it,  rushed  upon 
the  foe.  He,  no  less  prepared,  engaged  at  once,  and 
at  it  they  went  like  mad  bulls,  or  belling  stags  in  some 
glade  of  the  forest.  Their  fury  was  such  that  the 
rules  of  Art  were  put  aside;  without  foining  or  guard- 
ing they  merely  hacked  at  each  other  until  each  was 
disguised  in  blood,  and  neither  could  see  his  foe 
at  all.  Then,  for  a  second  time,  they  paused;  and 
presently  Captain  Brazenhead  spoke. 

"Thou  art  myself,  I  see,"  he  said,  "for  I  have 
fought  the  length  of  this  old  world,  but  never  with  one 
like  thee.  Now  mark  me  well,  that  if  I  die,  thou 
must  needs  die*  also;  and  be  sure  that  if  thou  diest, 
so  die  I.  For  never  again  shall  old  Brazenhead  en- 
counter such  a  foeman  as  thou  art;  and  all  fighting 
shall  be  stale,  by  Cock,  that  cometh  after  this.  Have 
at  thee,  drinker,  let  us  die  thirsty  while  we  can." 

Nothing  spoke  his  foeman,  but  leaned  upon  his 
sword  watchful  of  the  enemy;  and  then  for  a  third 
and  last  time  Captain  Brazenhead  threw  up  his  chin 
and  howled  long  and  tragically  into  the  sky.  Raising 
then  his  sword  arm,  which  shook  like  aspens  in  the 
wind,  and  shielding  his  person  with  what  remained 
of  his  cloak,  he  stumbled  forward  heavily  upon  the 
blade  of  the  other  man,  and  thrust  his  own  blade 
with  all  his  might  clean  through  his  breastbone. 
The  stricken  heroes,  mortally  wounded,  stood,  each 
propped  by  the  other,  staring  upon  the  work  they 
had  done — then  swaying  sideways,  now  this  way, 
now  that,  sideways  fell,  and  lay  in  death. 


31 6  THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

The  terrified  ladies  rose  to  their  feet,  and  shrieking 
ran  from  the  spot. 

Thus  fell  in  the  year  of  grace  1477  Salomon  Brazen- 
head  the  Great,  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son,  bom 
miraculously  in  the  seventh  month. 

Never  beaten  in  the  field,  but  now  in  this  last 
struggle;  never  refused  of  woman  but  in  favour  of 
himself  as  he  had  now  been,  none  but  his  own  youth, 
it  appears,  could  have  slain  him,  nor  any  slain  his 
own  youth  but  himself — a  conclusion  metaphysical, 
philosophic,  religious,  and  exact,  and  as  true  as  that 
I,  the  historian,  sit  here  to  write. 


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"That  Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett  would  give  us  a  flaming, 
wonderful  picture  of  Queen  Mary  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion. It  must  inevitably  pulsate  with  the  colour,  the 
virility,  the  passion  of  the  Renaissance.  .  .  .  Hitherto 
it  is  probable  that  no  portrait  has  been  so  vivid,  so  true 
in  its  unblushing  realism,  and  at  the  same  time  so  in- 
stinct with  sensuous  grace  as  that  which  Mr.  Hewlett 
has  painted  for  us." — Westminster  Gazette. 

New^  Canterburj^  Tales 

Including  The  Scrivener's  Tale  of  the  Countess  Alys, 

Dan  Costard's  Tale  of  Peridore  and  Paravail, 

Percival  Perceforest's  Tale  of 

Eugenio  and  Galcotto,  etc. 

12mo.    $1.50 

"  The  stories  are  mediaeval  to  the  very  core  and  show 
extraordinary  perception  of  the  inner  life  of  a  distant 
and  alien  age." — The  Outlook. 

The  Fool  Errant 

12mo.    $1.50 

"  Nothing  else  quite  so  good  in  its  own  way  has  come 
to  us  since  Charles  Reade  wrote  the  *  Cloister  and  the 
Hearth.'  " — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"A  wonderful  creation  which  Mr.  Hewlett  has  never 
surpassed," — New  York  Times. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Book  SUp-10m-5,'58(872i784)4280 


^^m- 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4787  B73  1911 


II  IIIIHilll  I  lllllllll 

L  005  703  548  7 


College 
Library 


PR 
^787 
B73 
1911 


UC  SOtHHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY  I 


A     001  173  361     5 


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